A Shepherd's Daughter
by ashleewframe
Summary: AU where James never died and Snow gave up her claim to the kingdom. The Evil Queen is planning to conquer Arendelle, but Emma, the daughter of a shepherd, decides it is her duty to stop her. She enlists the help of the dreaded pirate Captain Hook on her quest for finding the only man who knows how to stop the Evil Queen- the myth of a man, Rumplestiltskin.
1. The Shepherd's Daughter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Once Upon a Time.

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><p><strong>A Shepherd's Daughter<strong>

Emma woke up to thin rays of morning light filtering through her window. On the bed beside her, she felt her grandmother stirring as well. Careful not to rustle the bed too much, Emma slipped out from underneath the heavy wool blanket, pulled on her shoes, and tiptoed to close the drapes on the window. Once they were firmly secured, she sneaked out of the room, managing to leave the exhausted Ruth asleep.

Her father was already awake, cooking some eggs on the fire. Emma grinned when she saw that there was already a plate of strawberries on the meager wooden table that served as both cooking space and dining table. Her father liked to pull out all the stops on Emma's birthday.

"Grandma is still sleeping," Emma intoned quietly. David turned to look up at Emma, and smiled wearily. He always had a weary look about him—ever since Emma could remember. Sometimes she would catch him crying by the window, Ruth patting his back or simply standing in solidarity beside him. Emma would always tiptoe back out of the room whenever that happened, and would never think of mentioning it to him.

Her father wore a simple, loose beige shirt, worn soft from constant use. His pants were a darker brown and hung baggy on his legs, nearly covering his soft leather shoes. His hair was graying sparsely, little bits of silver spaced through his otherwise dirty blonde hair. His skin was tanned from hours toiling under the sun.

"Happy birthday, Emma." David greeted Emma, standing up to wrap her in a warm hug. Emma felt her father's hand come to rest on the back of her head, and sighed into his embrace. If there was one thing that could always calm her, make her feel warm and welcomed, it was a hug from David.

Emma let go first, and David turned around, back to the breakfast. He started scraping the eggs onto two separate plates, giving Emma a larger portion. Emma accepted the eggs gratefully, and they both sat down to the table. Emma savored every strawberry, though she was careful to leave enough for Ruth to have when she woke up. They were perfectly ripe, and Emma grinned at David through a mouthful of red.

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><p>After breakfast, Emma followed David outside. They let the sheep out of the pen, and David herded them towards a spot of grass that had gone uneaten for longer than the other patches.<p>

The sunrise was a glorious thing where Emma lived. She always loved this time of the morning, when all was silent save for the chirping of the birds, the chattering of the sheep, and the breath of her father beside her. The wind picked up speed every few minutes, rustling the trees that surrounded the farm. The sky was settling into the day, turning from orange and pink to the light cerulean blue that reminded Emma of David's eyes.

_Definitely green_, Emma thought, picturing her own eyes, and how she must've inherited the clear, grass-green color. _A woman with green eyes and wavy hair. _Emma couldn't figure out the color; her own hair was the golden blonde of straw, and her father's was just a few shades darker, so that explained where she got that trait. The rest of her features were up for grabs.

"Jill looks like she's limping," Emma spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb the morning peace. "Front left leg," she specified, noticing the dip every time her favorite sheep took a step. She'd named the sheep when she was just a few years old, after a rhyme she'd heard of Jack and Jill when Ruth had taken her to town. The other children had been chanting the song while skipping around in a circle. On the last notes, everyone had thrown themselves on the ground.

"I'll have grandma check her out when she gets up," David replied after studying the sheep for a moment, equally quiet. Emma nodded, and surveyed the rest of the herd. She was about to note that one of the sheep, the one that had been bitten in the hindquarters by a stray dog, was straying from the rest of the group, when the sound of hooves approaching caught her attention.

David and Emma turned at the same time to watch the Black Knight approaching.

"What day is today?" Emma wondered, thinking that maybe she had miscounted, maybe today was tax day and not next week.

"It's not tax day," David confirmed, wrapping an arm around Emma's waist. "Go inside and wake grandma."

"There isn't any time," Emma negated. The regular Black Knight was a generally good-mannered fellow, but his biggest peeve was when someone went inside while he was coming. The first time David had Emma go inside while the Black Knight came, he demanded Emma be brought back out, with the threat of taking her to fight in the army. When it happened again—David had heard the hooves before Douglas was even in view, but somehow he knew that Emma had been outside—he struck David, giving Emma's father a black eye, and warned that there would be further punishment should it happen again.

It had been warning enough.

David turned towards her, looking as if he was going to argue, but there was no time. The Black Knight was upon them. David's arm tightened around Emma; there was no use running now. _Anyways_, Emma thought, fear thickening in her mind, _best not to involve grandma Ruth_.

Emma had to admire the horse; she didn't know how a horse had developed such a _rich_, _oily_, black coat, but it was one of the most beautiful coat's she had ever seen. The horse's mane was smooth, had been brushed to silky perfection. Emma couldn't imagine that the mask was comfortable, however.

"The Queen demands an extra one and a half percent in taxes from all farmers on her land," The man told them, his voice deep and booming. Emma was appalled, but she dared not speak. The Queen's knights were known to be rough and cruel. His hand was already resting on the sword at his hip; Emma didn't want to give him a reason to draw it.

"_One and a half percent_?" David demanded, as outwardly appalled as Emma was inwardly. "How does she expect us to _live_?"

"That is no problem of the Queen's," the Black Knight replied, angling himself on the horse so that David and Emma could look directly into the dark depths of his eyes.

Emma recognized this Knight; he wasn't the one who came regularly to collect taxes. This one had eyes as dark as the horse's coat, a rounded jawline from too many sweets, and a generally cruel demeanor about him.

"May we inquire as to why there is such a sharp rise in taxes?" David asked, indignant.

"We've discovered a new territory that the Queen wishes to acquire; a land called Arendelle. They have many assets that the Queen believes would mesh nicely with our kingdom. The taxes will aid in strengthening our army and navy. The Queen thanks you for your contribution."

Emma was shocked and outraged. The Queen intended to use the money that was already _barely _putting food on their table to conquer some new land that wouldn't do _anything _for Emma and her family? She wanted to shout her indignation, but didn't want to put her family in further danger than was necessary. Inwardly, however, she was already plotting how she could help out her family monetarily.

David stood stone still. He seemed to be as angered about the news of war as Emma was. However, he simply nodded, and guided Emma back into the house so he could scrounge up whatever money they had left.

"How can they do this dad?" Emma whispered, wary of both waking Ruth and notifying the knight of their conversing. "We are already barely making it by as it is!"

David's jaw flexed as he counted out coins from his ever lightening coin pouch. "I don't know Emma." He turned towards Emma, fire in his eyes. "I promise you, we will get through this. I promise. Now stay here while I go out to pay him. Wake your grandmother."

Emma nodded quickly. David turned on his heel and hurried back outside. Emma watched him go, and then stalked towards the door to her room, ideas forming in her mind already. She would take back the kingdom—she would overthrow the Queen—she'd get a new job to support David and Ruth. She had to do _something_.

There was a gnawing feeling in her gut, a little voice that was telling her _she _needed to stop this, _she _needed to do something, take action against the Queen. It terrified her—she had never been all that brave, had always tended to stand behind her father rather than with him. But it shouldn't be that way, she realized. _She _should be the one standing up for her land, _she _should be the one—

Emma didn't know. But she sure as hell wanted to find out.

"Grandma," Emma shook Ruth's shoulder, "wake up, there's a Black Knight here," Emma whispered.

Ruth sat up quickly, awake at once. Ruth was an old woman, Emma didn't know how old, but she wore her age regally. Her hair was still in braids from sleeping, and her chocolate brown eyes were wide with trepidation. She glanced around the room, saw that the door was open and rushed up to close it.

"Emma, get under the bed, quickly!" Ruth urged, kneeling next to Emma. She tried to gently push Emma under the bed, but when Emma resisted, she increased her efforts.

"No, it's okay," Emma tried to reassure Ruth. "They're here to collect more taxes. The Queen wants to take some place called Arendelle by force."

"Oh dear," Ruth breathed, leaning against the bed frame next to Emma. "Oh no, what will we do?"

"We have to stop her," Emma replied, thinking that Ruth was speaking of the Queen trying to take Arendelle. Ruth glanced over at Emma, shocked.

"What will we do about our farm?" Ruth clarified. Then, appearing to have realized what Emma was getting at, she turned fully towards Emma. Grasping her hands, Ruth looked Emma directly in the eyes. "You mustn't think you can do anything to stop the Queen—there is _nothing _you could do, nor anything you _should _do, except try to keep our farm running."

"But grandma," Emma exhaled, trying to find the words to express how she felt about the subject. "I've always felt, as long as I can remember, that there's something _wrong _with my life—it's nothing that you or Dad have done, it's just this gut feeling that I should be doing _more_, somehow," Emma shook her head, squeezing Ruth's hands.

"Everyone feels that way, Emma" Ruth tried to console her. Emma shook her head again, glancing at the door. Her father had just entered the house.

"This is different," Emma assured Ruth. "I know what I'm going to do. Whatever it takes, I'm going to overthrow the Queen. I don't know how, but I will. She's a tyrant, and she doesn't deserve the throne. She doesn't deserve her people."

Ruth was shaking her head vehemently. "_No_, Emma. You must _never _talk about the Queen like that. She has ears and eyes everywhere. You must never try to oppose the Queen—you especially! Please, Emma, promise me you'll never mention this again, never mention _her _again,"

Emma hesitated, wondering where all the venom in her sweet grandmother's voice was coming from. There was steel in her voice and her grip; she wouldn't release Emma until she'd had Emma's word.

Emma lied. "Okay, grandma. I promise," she assured, looking away.

The truth was, Emma couldn't make that promise. A piece of her very soul was telling her that this was wrong, that she desperately needed to do something to dethrone the Queen—and she knew where her intuition was guiding her. To a man of myth. A man called the Dark One.

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><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Okay, so this is my first wholly Once Upon a Time story, and I hope you enjoyed it!


	2. To the Market

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Once Upon a Time.

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><p><strong>To the Market<strong>

A week after the Black Knight came to collect the extra taxes, Emma finally saw her opportunity to start enacting her plan. It was a day before the Black Knight would come again to collect the regular taxes, and David was counting the money from his coin pouch. He was coming up short.

"Emma, I need you to go into town and try to sell Charlie," David informed Emma morosely. Charlie was their new horse, eight years old, with many productive years ahead of him. They'd bought him from another farmer, who was joining the Queen's army, for a low price—a steal really—and he'd served them well for the year they'd had him. Unfortunately, they did not have enough money with the raised tax to afford the second horse.

Emma had to leave early so that she would make it to the market by midday— the best time for selling—and be home in time for dinner. Kissing her father and grandmother on the cheeks goodbye, Emma set off down the dirt road toward town, keeping a firm hold on Charlie by his lead. He was a loyal horse, and wouldn't run, but Emma needed to be absolutely certain that she would be bringing home enough coin for David to pay the taxes.

Today would be a moist and windy day, Emma imagined. There were bits of light shining through the cloud cover, but for the most part the sky was weighed down with thick, grey, rain-carrying clouds. It was cold enough for Emma to decide to bring her cloak; heavy and lined with fur, it would keep her warm even after it was soaked through with water. Though it had cost a pretty penny for Ruth to make, it had been enchanted by a local soothsayer in exchange for a lock of Ruth's hair, and grew with Emma as she had aged. Emma never asked what the soothsayer had done with the hair, though Ruth had been lethargic the entire month afterwards.

Charlie made a noise of discontent, and Emma turned her attentions towards him, rubbing his neck and shoulder as they walked. He'd always been an intuitive horse; he probably knew that he was being sold. Emma hoped that she could sell him to a master that would be as kind and caring as David was, though she'd have to sell him either way.

As Emma walked, she made stories in her mind about who her mother must have been. For David to never look at another woman, for Ruth to cringe at the mention of her, for her to have left her family, her young daughter and husband.

_She was a pirate_, Emma thought wildly. _Sailing the sea without a care, she couldn't be appeased with the life of a simple shepherd's wife. She would have stayed though, if it weren't for the evil pirate Captain Hook coming back because of old wounds, stealing her away to sea, never to return. _

_She was a knight in a foreign kingdom. She couldn't stay with her family because she owed it to her King and Queen, to her people, to protect the land she'd grown up on. _

_She was a princess, _Emma always imagined. But she could never find the words to hypothesize another story about her mother along that thread.

Whenever Emma was being truthful with herself, she realized that the stories were simply a coping mechanism; she couldn't understand, didn't understand, would never understand _why _her mother had left. Was it because Emma wasn't good enough? Had she gone off to find another family with a better daughter, a smarter, or stronger, or more courageous one? Emma didn't know. And while her grandmother reassured her that it was no fault of Emma's, Emma couldn't help but think that she was the problem.

"Oi! Watch out!" Emma glanced up quickly, just in time to veer out of the way of a carriage going far too fast for a dirt road. Emma looked back when it was passed, but no one stopped to see if she was fine.

"Royals," Emma muttered, patting Charlie on the neck. He huffed in agreement.

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><p>Emma made good time to the market, and arrived just as the sky opened up a bit to let a few drizzles of rain through. It wasn't a great day for selling a horse, but it was the only day she had.<p>

The market was set up along one long street, and in the town square. There were dozens of stalls protected from the rain by colorfully painted pieces of wood. The colors stood out sharply to the overall grayness of the surrounding area; green, blue, red, orange, yellow against a backdrop of dismal grey.

There were quite a few people, surprisingly enough, especially for the weather. Hundreds of people milled through the street, stopping at every booth the browse the contents, then meandering on to the next one. Emma tried to keep near the most crowded stalls.

"Horse for sale!" Emma shouted, wandering through the covered stalls. "Hard worker! Fast runner! Horse for sale! Price negotiable!" _To an extent_, Emma thought. They needed enough money to cover the extra taxes that had been taken from them, and if Emma was able to get enough, she would also need to purchase David a better pillow. He slept on the floor, and his pillow was wearing as thin as a piece of parchment. David would never purchase it for himself, but he wouldn't object if Emma came home with one, and enough money to cover the tax.

"Horse for sale!" Emma shouted again, slightly distracted as she smelled the most glorious smell of baking sweet bread. "Good—good for work horse," Emma shook her head, scolded herself for allowing her mouth to water, and turned her attention back to the market, shouting out about what a great horse Charlie was.

"I'll pay you just to shut up about that damn horse!" A stranger shouted out, to Emma's surprise and disappointment. There seemed to be an agreement in the crowd; Charlie was not going to be sold with Emma shouting out about how great he was.

Emma sighed, clicked to Charlie, and started to turn around to the end of the market. Maybe if she tried to sell _directly _to people, she would have more luck.

As she was turning, her eyes lighted on a jeweler's stall, where something shiny caught her eye—a ring. The crowd around the stall was looser, so Emma was able to draw closer with Charlie in tow to observe the piece of jewelry. It wasn't anything she would _ever _be able to afford, however it never hurt to look at pretty things.

The ring was a simplistically intricate one; a thin silver band inlaid with the smallest emeralds Emma had ever seen, right along the band. In the center was the most beautiful verdant emerald of them all; although it was only twice as big as the miniscule emeralds, it drew her eye instantly.

The jeweler, a voluptuous woman with beady brown eyes and tanned skin the same color as her tawny hair eyed Emma with interest.

"I see you've an eye for precious things," she spoke, her voice a contradiction; she spoke smoothly, though her voice was rough; she had an accent that sounded as familiar as the rustle of the trees yet as foreign as the crashing waves. "I will tell you what, sweet pea, you give me that ring upon your finger, and I'll give you this one glittering in my stall."

Emma stiffened at once. She glanced down at the ring on her middle left finger. The band was silver, and there was a solitary chartreuse jewel set on it. It was beautiful in its own old-fashioned way, and it was one of Emma's most prized possessions. She wiggled the ring around on her finger, already angering at the idea that she could trade such a valuable, personal item, for some shiny trinket.

"_No_," Emma enunciated, taking a staggered step backwards. She felt personally offended by the jeweler, though knew that she shouldn't feel that way. It wasn't as if the jeweler knew the value it had for her.

Startling at the vehemence in Emma's voice, the jeweler raised her eyebrows and her hands in a defensive position, and quickly retracted her offer. "Never mind sweet pea, forget I said anything," her accent had disappeared. A few moments later, she was already focused on selling to a different customer, using a different, more pronounced and regal accent.

Emma shook herself, and tightened her hold on Charlie. Rolling the ring around her middle finger once more, Emma turned herself around—

—and ran smack into a leather-clad chest.

Her gaze went down to his thick leather boots, then up to his black leather legs, the long coat he wore which must have weighed fifty pounds, to his dark vest. She admired the silk scarf he wore around his neck, and the black stubble that wrapped effortlessly around his sharp jaw. His cheekbones were sun-spotted, and he had the thickest black eyelashes Emma had seen on a man.

Emma finally looked up into the most gorgeous, cerulean blue eyes she's ever seen. If her father's eyes were the blue of the morning sky, this man's eyes encompassed the sky and all of the stormy oceans. And they were focused directly on her.

"Hello love. Fancy a drink?" The stranger asked, reaching out a hand to stroke Emma's blonde hair away from her shoulder. Emma saw the intimidation tactic for what it was, but took a step back apprehensively anyways. She knew who this was—of course she knew, he was proudly sporting a gleaming silver hook in place of a left hand.

"I don't drink," Emma replied, which was the truth. Her grandfather had been a drunk, and had died of it when her _father _was young, leaving David with awful memories that to this day he was hesitant to speak of. She would never follow in that stranger's footsteps.

Captain Hook cocked his head, a roguish smile still lighting his face. "And what if I told you I will buy your horse? Might I divulge some answers as to why that ring you wear means so much to you?"

Emma narrowed her eyes at the cocky attitude, but imagined that she could listen to his soft, lilting accent all day long. "He costs ten gold coins and seven shillings," Emma steeped up the price by three gold coins and five shillings, ready to barter for the young horse. He was a good horse, a young horse, but he was nowhere near worth ten gold coins and seven shillings. Though Emma did _not _think it was wise to try and hustle a man like Captain Hook, she was interested in seeing how much he would be willing to come back with.

She did not expect his answer.

"Smee," Captain Hook called to his right, not taking his eyes off of Emma. "Take this horse and pay—"

"Emma. Emma Charming," Emma answered the prompt, shell-shocked that her offer had been so quickly taken up. She felt a morsel of guilt gnaw at her gut, but didn't mention anything. The way she saw it, she needed the money more than he did—he would probably just pick pocket a couple of the townsfolk to earn it back anyways.

Captain Hook nodded, and spoke again. "Take Miss Charming's horse and pay the miss her fee."

"Yes Cap'n," a young man replied, hustling up to take the horse from Emma. He was round in the face and stomach, wearing a striped shirt with a tan overcoat and a bright, scarlet hat that almost blocked him from seeing. Emma mutely handed the horse to Smee as he counted out ten gold coins and seven shillings from a coin pouch, practically writhing with appalled anxiousness.

"Now, milady, where shall we adjourn for the second half of our bargain?" Hook asked politely, spreading his good hand outwards as if to say that they had the whole town.

_We probably do, with his influence_, Emma thought. "There's a bench just a minute out of town, it's a nice place to sit when it isn't raining."

"Nonsense," Hook disagreed immediately. "How about there?" He asked, motioning to the bakery Emma had been sniffing at just a handful of minutes ago.

"They have great bread," Emma admitted as they began to walk in that direction. It wasn't a lie; she'd had the bread as a birthday present on her tenth birthday, and it was absolutely magnificent. The shop's owners hadn't changed, so she doubted that the bread was any less amazing. And the smell…it made Emma's mouth water.

Ten minutes later, they were seated at one of the five small tables that were laid inside—most of the patrons left the shop as soon as Hook entered, though the owner was too terrified to kick him out. _And here I am, having rolls with him_, Emma thought, looking down at the sweet roll she'd just bought with some of the extra money. _And I'll still have some leftover from the amount we need for taxes—even after I buy dad a pillow._

"It was my mother's," Emma intoned after a moment of expectant silence. "When I was two or three years old, I don't really remember, she left me and my father. We're shepherds, we live on a simple farm, and she left without a goodbye. The only thing of hers that she didn't bring with her was this ring. It was my grandmother's wedding ring, and her wedding ring from my father." Emma took a deep breath; as much as she loved fantasizing about who her mother was, it was hell to talk about.

Emma's hand itched to travel up to her throat, where there was a small vial strung around a thin strip of leather. Inside the vial was the other thing that she did not bring with her; a strand of her hair. For some reason, Emma couldn't even begin to fathom, she had wrapped the necklace around Emma's neck while she'd been sleeping. Emma didn't remember it personally, only remembered that she _always _had the necklace with her.

She couldn't even being to understand what the hair represented; the glass was colored blue, and was sealed shut so tightly that Emma couldn't even think to open it without shattering the glass of the vial, which she'd sworn she wouldn't do. And so, her mother's hair color remained a mystery.

"What of your father?" Hook prompted after Emma had been silent for too long. Emma glanced up, and saw a surprising amount of understanding in Hook's eyes.

"He won't speak of her," Emma replied. "Grandma—my grandmother told me that after she left, he went looking for her, but came back a week later. He didn't talk for a month after that, and now neither of them even mention her. Sometimes…" Emma hesitated, wondering if she should divulge her father's weakness. In the end, she decided it wasn't her secret to share. "Sometimes I wonder why she left," Emma said instead. "I wonder if it was something I had done, something I wasn't doing, if there was something I _could _have done to make her stay."

"It wasn't your fault," Hook spoke softly. Emma refused to look at him. "You were just a babe, how could it be your fault?"

Emma shook her head, trying to clear the dark emotions from her mind. There was no use crying over it now, now that the event was long over. She only had to look to the future. And speaking of the future…

"I have to get home," Emma intoned, forgetting about the delicious roll that she'd been yearning for earlier in the day. Emma looked up, though, to express her gratitude for Hook purchasing the horse. _Perhaps he isn't as bad as all the stories make him out to be_, Emma thought.

Hook winked, standing as well. "My offer of a drink is still on the table," he intoned, sticking his thumbs in his belt suggestively. Emma rolled her eyes at the offer. _And perhaps I'm just imagining things._

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><p>The sky was darkening rapidly as Emma went to purchase the softest pillow she could find. As she browsed the stalls that remained open, she couldn't help but overhear a conversation drifting through the open door of the tavern.<p>

"She plans to take Arendelle by force, if no one stops her. But who would be brave enough to try and stop the Evil Queen?" Coming from the warbling voice of a drunk man, Emma didn't put much stock into the question. However, the reply instantly piqued her interest.

"The Dark One, of course," a heavy drawling voice replied easily, as if there weren't Black Knights roaming the streets around the tavern. Emma glanced up, but couldn't see inside the doors clearly enough to make out who was speaking.

Emma looked around quickly and, making a snap decision, favored the door to the tavern over the vendor selling pre-made pillows.

Inside was dark and surprisingly warm. Behind the counter there was a large stock of different alcohols, the bartender a sleazy-looking older man who eyed the room before him with contempt. Emma tried to avoid being seen by him, not wanting to spend any of the coins to stay in the tavern so that she could listen in on the mysterious conversation.

Emma quickly located the warbling man, who sat at a large wooden table, surrounded by rough-looking men.

"The Dark One's a _myth_," a pale, skinny man in his late thirties spat, taking a swig of a pint glass.

"He's more myth than man, however _I _happen to know where to find him." This coming from the dirty man with the thick voice. His hair was curly, white and black beneath his triangular hat. He had a small patch of black hair on his chin, and a thick black mustache. His face was rounded, though it was obvious he was more muscle than fat. He wore a black vest, and a red silk shirt underneath. He was drinking from another pint glass, though at a much slower rate than the drunk man and his compatriots.

"Where is he?" Emma asked loudly, then cursed herself for speaking up as all eyes were on her.

"And who are you?" The man asked; Emma quickly realized that, whoever this group was, this man was their leader.

"Emma," Emma replied, not trusting him with her full name. "Can you find him? The Dark One?"

The man stared at her for a second. Then, with a wave of his hand, he dismissed the other men without even speaking. When they were all gone, Emma took a seat across from the man.

"I am Blackbeard," Blackbeard said. Emma knew him as a pirate, but didn't know anything further than that. "And if anyone were able to find the Dark One, it is I. Why do you wish to know the location of the Dark One?"

Emma crossed her arms and leaned back against the booth chair, then quickly sat back up when her cloak met stickiness. Emma lowered her voice, speaking in a hushed tone. "The Evil Queen has been a tyrant to this land for far too long. I think that the Dark One will be able to stop her."

Blackbeard raised a bushy black eyebrow. "You think?" He asked, then started chuckling. He downed the rest of his drink, and leaned across the table towards Emma. "I _know _he will be able to defeat the Evil Queen. The question is; how far are you willing to go to seek him out?"

At this, Emma hesitated, her resolve quavering. How far _was _she willing to go? Was she willing to leave her father, her grandmother, all alone? They needed her on the farm; David wouldn't be able to work the farm and tend to the sheep all at once. And while Ruth might be a sturdy old woman, she was still an old woman, and wouldn't be able to help as much as was needed.

_What am I doing_, Emma wondered. _I come here to sell a horse and buy a pillow for Dad, now I've had a sit-down chitchat with two pirates and I'm actually _considering _leaving my family to pursue a quest of—of what? _Revenge _against the Queen? Revenge for taking some more money? _Emma was disgusted with herself.

"I'm sorry," Emma intoned, sliding out from the booth. "I'm not willing to go very far, I—I have to go—"

Blackbeard surveyed her for a moment with keen eyes. He nodded slowly, glancing around the bustling tavern. "If you change your mind darling, I will be docked until tomorrow at midday, and I have room for an extra passenger. Think about it; you would be a hero, bringing the Dark One back from the hole he's been hiding in for the past twenty years."

"Thank you," Emma intoned, backing away, "But don't count on me."

As she turned to leave, her eyes caught on someone else's—Captain Hook was sitting in the shadows of the tavern, barely visible, but undoubtedly staring at Emma.

Emma swallowed thickly, and left the tavern in a hurry. She was going to be late for dinner.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Thank you all for continuing to read my story! I didn't expect to get such a great response so quickly for the first, likely most boring, chapter in the story. But thank you; you inspired me to get out the next chapter of my other story in order to write this one!

Anyways, usually I will write a foreword A/N when I have guest reviews, but there were so many that I decided to do it down here. Thank you all for reviewing, and I hope you continue to enjoy my story!

Raquel: Thank you for your review! Snow left Emma and David for her own reasons, which we will learn of later on in the story.

Guest 1: Thank you although I haven't given a specific age, my idea for Emma is that she's just turned twenty-two. Her age isn't a big part of this, however, and only gets mentioned in passing, so feel free to imagine her as whatever age you like. Captain Swan will most certainly be present in this fic!

Guest 2: Thank you! I hope you are enjoying my story. Emma has no clue who her mother is, not even of her name. We will get more into all of that later in the fic. And it is safe to say that it is Emma's throne, though she does not know it.

Guest 3: Thank you! I was worried that this would be too boring, and I wouldn't get very many responses until I posted a couple more chapters, but I have gotten a fantastic response!

Ouatfan: Thank you for your review, I am glad you are enjoying it! Emma will certainly be running into her mother, though she might not know it is her. Emma currently has no idea who her mother is.

Emmafan: I can confirm that Snow is not dead, she chose to leave for her own reasons, which we will learn of later on. Thank you for your review, I hope that you continue to enjoy my story!

Ouatemmabig: Thank you for your review! Very keen observation, it would make sense that Snow has left Emma and David for their own protection. I have updated so quickly because of the great response! I hope you enjoyed it

Ouatfanforever: Yes, Snow White is certainly Emma's mother. Thank you for your review, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Guest 4: Thank you for reviewing, I am glad you enjoyed! I usually tend to update every week, however due to personal problems, it can sometimes take longer.

Guest 5: Thank you for your review! Acute observation; I don't think that Snow would be too happy with Emma if she were indeed in hiding to protect her daughter.

Guest 6: Thank you for your review, James never died is my idea, so David never became a prince. They still met and fell in love, Snow is definitely Emma's mom. I hope you continue to enjoy!


	3. A Mistaken Leap

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Once Upon a Time.

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><p><strong>A Mistaken Leap<strong>

It turned out that when Emma finally made it back home, she was not late for dinner, as dark as it was. It appeared that dinner hadn't even started—and probably would not start that night. Because when Emma got home, there were Black Knights ransacking her house.

Emma came upon the scene quite suddenly; she hadn't been paying very much attention beforehand, was more focused on her feet than anything else. When she looked up, her heart gave a start, and she almost yelped. She did not see the black silhouette approaching until it was too late.

"Emma, come quickly," Emma jumped in surprise, but quickly followed as Ruth led her into their barn. There was a small nook that wasn't visible from anywhere in the barn, expect from where you were looking out, and Ruth quickly shoved Emma inside it. Before Emma could say anything, Ruth pressed a finger over her lips and followed Emma in. There, they waited in suspense as the Black Knights broke everything in their home.

"Where's dad?" Emma whispered, trying to make out her grandmother's weary face in the dim light. She could only see the general outline of a soft face. A second later, she felt her grandmother's soft hand slip into her own. Emma tried to squeeze her hand, but couldn't move her muscles. There was a nail digging into her back, wetness saturating her knees, but damn it if Emma wasn't being as quiet as a mouse.

"He's inside. They're holding him at crossbow, though I don't think they're going to hurt him. The Queen is more likely to use men than kill them."

_The Queen is here_, Emma thought anxiously. She remembered how angered her father was at the raised taxes, and hoped he wouldn't question anything. The capricious Queen was not known for looking kindly upon those who questioned her actions.

Emma was about to reply to Ruth, but she was stopped by the sound of approaching footsteps. Black Knights had such heavy steps, but these ones were light, clacking rather than thumping. Emma's heart stilled, and she might have forgotten to breath for a couple of moments. It was the Evil Queen.

"Search the place," Emma heard a terse, feminine voice demand. "I want every barrel of hay overturned, every filthy hoe and shovel displaced. If she is here, _find her_. I want that bitch _flayed_." The venom in her voice chilled Emma to the bone.

"Yes, my Queen," came a gruff reply. Emma wondered who they were talking about. It couldn't be her; she'd done nothing against the crown, except protest the taxes briefly in her mind and in her home. There wasn't any reason she should be hiding from the Queen, nor any reason the Queen should want to find her and _flay _her.

The next couple of moments were some of the most nerve-wracking Emma had ever experienced. Emma tried to keep as still as possible, limited her breathing...and yet it didn't feel like enough. Her heart was pounding so loudly, could the knights not hear? A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead and dripped into her lap; how could the Black Knights not hear _that_? It sounded like a tree falling to Emma. The pounding of blood in her skull could wake a giant in the clouds!

The footsteps approached, and as much as Emma tried to tell herself they couldn't see her—there was a barrel of hay in the way, it was too dark, and the nook blended in seamlessly with the other slats of wood—it didn't keep her from covering her mouth with her free hand. Ruth had Emma's fingers in a death grip, Emma's bones were creaking, her skin was too tight, there wasn't enough air and she felt like the pressure would cause her too implode. Just when she thought they were had—

"The bandit Snow White is not here, my Queen," the Black Knight spoke without inflection. His voice could only have been inches away from where Emma was squatting. Ruth stilled beside her, and Emma wondered if she was realizing, too, how close they were to being found out.

"Are you certain?" the Evil Queen demanded, though her voice sounded further away.

"There is no one else here," the Black Knight reaffirmed. There was silence. Emma counted to twenty-eight before the Queen barked out orders for everyone to leave, they were all dismissed. Even when the last hooves sounded on the dirt road, Emma and Ruth did not move, did not speak. Only after David brought a light into the barn and sought them out did they finally unwind from their hiding place.

"Daddy," Emma exhaled, and rushed into his waiting arms. In his arms, she felt safe and comforted. He wrapped her in a warm embrace, and then opened his arms for Ruth to join in the group hug. There they stayed, still as a statue, until Emma finally broke away.

"Are you all right?" David asked, glancing from Ruth to Emma.

"I'm okay. Dad, what happened? Why were they looking through our house for…Snow White? Who's Snow White?" The name felt strange, misplaced on Emma's tongue, though she couldn't pinpoint the reason.

"Snow White is a bandit, no one more. She's been missing for a while, maybe the Queen heard a rumor that she would be around these parts?" Ruth sighed, shaking her head. "Who knows? It certainly does not matter to us."

"But why would she be here?" Emma wondered, feeling sick to her stomach.

"I don't know," David spoke shortly. "What is important is that we are all okay. Emma, did you sell Charlie?"

Something was off, it occurred to Emma. She would have thought David would be more concerned about the possibility of a bandit being found on his property, and the tyranny of the Queen for ransacking his house.

"Let's go inside," Ruth intoned before Emma could respond, and grabbed her granddaughters hand. Emma followed Ruth dutifully back into her home, where she was startled with the overall damage done.

Emma and her family did not have very many worldly possessions. It spoke volumes about the damage done to the house by the Black Knights that it was in such a complete disarray. There were broken dishes—_did they think the bandit Snow White was hiding in the cupboards?—_and torn rugs, the table was halved and clothes were strewn everywhere. Their food was spilled across the ground in the kitchen, and it looked as if the bed was broken as well. Their sole painting was torn down, hopefully not ripped, but Emma couldn't check. All she could do was stare in horror at the mess that was left behind.

_What do I do? _Emma wondered. She was aware that her father was asking her questions, her grandmother was trying to guide her to sit down on one of the broken chairs, but she could only stare. She wasn't petrified—in fact, Emma had decided this ransacking was grounds for change. A significant change.

When leaving the market, she'd been unsure and afraid. Afraid of the terrible, terrible anxiety that if she left to defeat the Queen, if she left to join Blackbeard, her family would crumble. _She _would crumble. But it wasn't the truth. _It was not the truth._

_I _need _to do it, _Emma realized. _I need to do this _for _my family, not in spite of my family. For everyone who lives in the Enchanted Forest. I need to stop waiting for someone else to go off and save the day—if I want anything to happen, I need to be the catalyst. I will _not _let this Queen— I will not let _Regina_ step over my family and everything we have worked hard for. I need to act._

_I need to act. _

There was steel in her eyes and resolve in her mind. Emma needed to act, and if that meant meeting Blackbeard and joining him and his pirates, then so be it. If she needed to get her hands dirty, then so be it. If dethroning Regina required destroying everything Emma had ever felt proud of within herself? Losing any respect she held for herself, losing all the pride her father and grandmother held for her? If she had to take Regina's life in order to put a stop to the Evil Queen's tyranny? So be it.

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><p>Emma left for town the very next morning. Waking up before her father was difficult, but necessary. She left the coin pouch on the counter, taking only the shillings and hoping it would be enough barter passage on Blackbeard's ship in search of the Dark One. She took her cloak, her shoes, and a loaf of stale bread David had planned on feeding the birds with in the morning. She kissed Ruth gently on the forehead, blew a kiss to David, and left before the crack of dawn.<p>

She was certain she would be able to make it to the market before midday, when Blackbeard said he would be leaving, yet she couldn't help but keep a rush to her step. The sooner she was in town, far away from where David could reach her, could try and stop her, the better she would feel.

Emma did not know why she was doing this. She didn't know why it was her job to stop the Queen, why she was aligning herself with a pirate to do it, and didn't know what her plan was. She just knew that she _needed _to do what felt right.

"This feels more right than anything has in a long time," Emma assures herself out loud, needing to hear something, anything, in the stillness of the early morning. It was the truth; for a while, she felt as if she'd been running on autopilot. She was doing what was normal, what she was supposed to do, for too long in her life. It was time for her to do something courageous.

It was just before midday when Emma arrived in town. She could practically feel her father closing in on her—it was probably long since he'd realized she was gone. She could picture him taking their old horse, riding the poor thing as fast as he could to catch up. But he would be too late.

The docks were rickety and old, but they served their purpose. They were raised, so Emma had to climb a flight of stairs, so that she was level with the ships. There were only a few in harbor—and though Emma thought that she'd arrived on time, she saw what _had _to be Blackbeard's ship sailing away.

It was magnificent, truly worthy of the pirate; painted in glorious blues and yellows, it was the most colorful pirate ship Emma had heard of—but it was undoubtedly his. It only took her a moment to decide that, with her new-found courage, she needed to take the proverbial leap—only this one would have a physical counterpart as well.

Steeling herself, Emma judged the distance to be about five feet and growing. If she was going to do it, she only had the one shot. So she took it.

Taking a running start, Emma was almost distracted when she heard her name being shouted from behind. But she couldn't allow herself any hesitation.

She almost made the mistake of closing her eyes as she took the last step, but opened them just in time to see her feet leaving the dock—

and she was

flying

for the longest second of her life

_THUD_

Emma had learned how to fall correctly when her father taught her how to sword fight, and she automatically employed those methods when she realized she wasn't stable. Tucking herself in, she allowed her shoulder to take the first impact, and rolled from there, until she came back in a somersault and landed on her knees. As she landed, she heard a long _riiiip _as she landed on the skirt of her dress and tore the skirt from the top, a seam running up the side.

Her heart was pounding, she ached, and she was still running on the adrenaline of the moment. But when she looked up and saw the awed—and certainly confused—pirates staring down at her, she couldn't help but celebrate.

"Yes!" Emma shouted, standing dizzily. She grabbed her skirt to hold it up before she started laughing and rocketed a fist in the air. She had made the jump!

"Hello love," came a drawling voice from behind. Emma's heart thudded to a halt. "Fancy telling me what you're doing aboard my ship?"

Emma whirled around and came face to face with a pirate. Only, this one wasn't an old, scary-looking one called Blackbeard. Emma was on Captain Hook's ship.

"But—" she looked around at the crew, and then back at the dock, where her father sat astride their old horse, shouting words Emma could no longer hear. Docked right next to where the ship Emma had just leaped onto had been docked was another pirate's ship, this one presumably the actual Captain Blackbeard's ship. "I…" Emma didn't know what to say. She looked up at Captain Hook, mouth gaping. He looked back at her, clearly waiting for an explanation.

"Uh," Emma cleared her throat. "Well, I wasn't aware this was _your _ship," Emma finally spoke, trying not to cringe at her own words.

Hook raised an eyebrow, and glanced around at his stalling crew. "Back to work, the lot of you!" He shouted, then grabbed Emma by the elbow. "Follow me to the helm."

Emma glanced around as the crew immediately started up whatever task they'd dropped when Emma dropped in. She was amazed by the efficiency they performed their tasks with.

She felt unsteady walking on the vessel, and more than once almost tipped over. She'd never been on a ship before, and found that although she loved the smell and look of the ocean, she couldn't quite get used to walking on it.

"You have to turn around, I'm afraid I must have jumped aboard the wrong ship," Emma found her voice and tried to explain. Hook grabbed the massive wheel, but did not direct the ship back to dock.

"What ship, pray tell, were you planning on boarding?" He wanted to know. Emma grew impatient; every moment she spent aboard this ship and not Blackbeard's was a moment that she didn't have. He was bound to leave any minute now.

"Blackbeard's," Emma spoke quickly. "I need to—wait, where's Charlie?" Emma just realized that she could not see any horse aboard the ship.

Hook looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "What use have I of a horse, love?"

"But you—never mind, just please, I must get back to the dock."

"Unless you fancy a swim, I don't see that happening. What use have you of Blackbeard?"

"Well aren't you a gentleman," Emma muttered, then said more clearly, "I don't know how to swim, and it is _imperative _for all who call the Enchanted Forest home that I get to him!"

"I'm always a gentleman," Hook smiled—no, _smirked_—at her. "But Blackbeard is not. He is not the most reliable pirate; I suggest you conduct your business elsewhere," Hook advised, still not looking at Emma. Emma stamped her foot in frustration; it was childish, but she couldn't help the action.

"I _can't _look elsewhere because he's the only one who knows the location of the Dark One!" Emma exclaimed, not thinking her words through.

"The Dark One?" Hook intoned, whirling to face Emma. He advanced on her as she started backing up, matching each of her steps until her back was against the railing and he was less than an arm's length away. She inhaled quickly, noticing again that his eyes were _such _a magnificent blue. "What business have you with him? Who _are _you, Emma Charming?"

Emma swallowed thickly. "I can't say," she spoke softly, though her heart raced with fear of what the dreaded Captain Hook would do to her. He wasn't known for helping people, that was for sure.

"Unless you wish to walk the plank, love," Hook spoke dangerously, equally soft as Emma. "I suggest you explain your business with the Dark One."

Emma closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She was already too far away from the dock for her to reasonably convince Hook to take her back, and she would die within seconds of trying to swim. Perhaps enlisting Captain Hook's help was the best option—assuming he could find the Dark One same as Blackbeard, which was highly unlikely. _Unlikely, but worth a shot_, Emma reasoned. Steeling herself, she pushed off the deck's railing, putting herself almost chest to chest with Hook.

"He is the only one capable of defeating the Evil Queen," Emma explained. "I plan to bargain with him for assistance in destroying her."

Hook clenched his jaw, as if thinking something through. There was a guarded expression to him, though underneath the surface Emma could see doubt, hesitance, and something else boiling. She could tell he was deliberating over something, but couldn't fathom what. Finally, Hook nodded.

"I hope you have something of value, love. The Crocodile accepts no small trinkets," Hook warned.

"I understand," Emma replied, a sliver of hope blossoming in her chest. She twisted her mother's ring around her finger; it was her most prized possession, yet wholly worth the possibility of unseating the tyrannical reign of the Evil Queen. Her father and grandmother would condemn her for bartering with it, but she was doing it for them. They would understand, eventually. She hoped.

"And I hope you've a thick enough skin to bargain with the devil," Hook added. He closed his eyes, let out a breath of air, and frowned. "What say you to my offer; I will assist you in finding the Dark One."

"In exchange for what?" Emma prompted hesitantly after a moment of Hook's silence.

He opened his eyes slowly, and weighed Emma. He seemed to take her in fully for the first time, as more than just some girl selling a horse, a girl who'd lost her mother. Whether or not he found what he was looking for, Emma didn't know. Either way, a second later he'd turned his back on her and was speaking. "In exchange for your assistance in killing him."

"Done." Emma replied without hesitation. She couldn't afford the hesitation; if she was already planning on doing whatever it took to defeat the Evil Queen, then she needed to follow through with that.

Emma glanced out at the ocean, taking her eyes off of the pirate. She could see the allure of life at sea; there was certainly something freeing about looking ahead and seeing the vast expanse of ocean, rippling with creatures underneath and the wind above. It wasn't just the look, the _smell _of salinity and wood, sweaty male bodies and rum, reminded her of when she was younger.

She would run as fast as she could in the field, bare feet tickled by the green grass, laughter lifting into the sky without boundaries. It was a game of chase, but it never felt that way. To Emma, it felt like freedom. It felt like a heart beating its way out of her chest only to change its mind and nestle closer, stronger than ever. It felt like the wind whipping through her hair and tangling it into knots that would give her grandmother reason to be stressed. It was uplifting and magical. But in the end, her father would always catch her, wrap his arms around her and swing her into the air.

Emma hoped that didn't mean anything about her current adventure. She hoped her father would return to the farm, would help Ruth instead of abandon her in search of his daughter.

Hook turned around and eyed her again, face closed off. Emma wondered where his thoughts had been. "Then you have yourself a deal. Smee!"

"Yes Cap'n?" Smee appeared out of thin air; Emma was surprised she didn't seem him beforehand, what with his magnificently bright red cap.

"Find Ms. Charming a cot to sleep on and a pair of pants, then bring her to me." He gave Emma a look that made her stomach feel like molten lava. "We've much to discuss."

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><p>Emma stared at herself in the mirror. Hook had allowed her to use his cabin to change in, and although she felt as if she were taking too long, she couldn't help but use a few quiet moments to gather herself.<p>

At the moment, she looked like a pirate. Smee had found a pair of brown leather pants that were loose and long, but were better than holding up the skirt of a dress. The skirt came right off, leaving her with the beige top, which only covered the skin just above her hips. Luckily she had her cloak, which came in handy on the windy ship—even in the Captain's quarters she was cold.

Moving from the mirror, where her wide green eyes questioned her judgment, Emma looked out the wall of windows, where land beckoned. The sea was beautiful—from afar. Cold and blue, smelling thickly of salt and musk—though perhaps the musk was coming from the crew—the ocean was no place for a girl like Emma. She felt less at ease, yet more free, than she ever had before. Once there was solid ground under her feet again she was sure she'd feel better, but until then, she knew she would be on edge. Especially with that Captain around.

"Ms. Charming, I suggest you hurry it along," came Mr. Smee's anxious, narrow voice. Emma took another look at the ocean, feeling safer with the wall of glass between her and it, before hurrying out of the quarters.

"Here," Emma breathed, tugging her cloak close to her body. _If only Dad could see me now_, she thought, but quickly retracted that. She wasn't sure she would want him to see her, for he would certainly hold sadness and disappointment in his gaze.

"That's odd," Mr. Smee noted, and Emma looked up. "We appear to be being followed."

Emma looked to where Mr. Smee's gaze was directed, but couldn't tell if he was right or not. Now, silhouetted against the land, there was a large ship headed in their direction. Narrowing her eyes, Emma could just make out some basic characteristics. When she did, her stomach did an uneasy flip.

It was Blackbeard's ship.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Okay, holy crap, I would like to thank anyone and everyone who favorited, followed, or reviewed this story—and there was a bunch of you. So many that I find it impossible to express my gratitude to each of you individually—this would require a chapter in and of itself.

So, new policy; as much as I would _love_ to write a personal message to express my appreciation to every single one of you, this is simply not feasible if I want to spend my time writing the actual story. Here's the deal; I PM anyone who reviews when signed in. Otherwise, I will answer the general questions and concerns of reviewers, unless you specifically request acknowledgement of a question or desire for the story. Thank you guys again for your amazing response.

From recent reviews there seems to be a bit of confusion with Emma's imaginings. So, in this story, Captain Hook has his same back story, and has yet to be introduced to Snow. He is not the reason she left, that little bit in the last chapter was just to introduce the concept of Captain Hook in Emma's mind, not the idea of Snow being spirited away by our devilishly handsome pirate. I am a firm Snowing fan, and will not bash them.

We will not see Henry in this story, however there will be several other characters popping up here and there. And two little things I want to address; I am writing in the third person limited, therefore we are seeing Emma's perspective, but not her thoughts, unless I indicate otherwise, which is why you see me writing 'David' interchangeably with 'Emma's father' and the likes. I agree that anything other than 'dad' or 'father' would be rude coming from Emma in this setting, which is why she will not be thinking of him as David.

Second thing; the ring in the stall was actually modeled after my mother's engagement ring, with emeralds instead of diamonds. The chartreuse one is Snow's ring from the show. If anyone wants to see a picture of my mom's ring, just ask, and I'll post it somewhere or something.

Anywho, I have taken up too much space with this A/N. Future ones shouldn't be half as long (hopefully), I assure you. Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

-Ashlee Frame


	4. A Pirate's Life for You

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Once Upon a Time.

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><p><strong>Unwittingly Purchased<strong>

**The Lucky Lady's Tavern, Twenty Years Prior**

"I know what I have to do, but it doesn't make any of this any easier," a woman in a dark green cloak intoned, clutching the tankard in her grip angrily. Her friend, a brunette with an intense look about her, nodded in consolation.

"How did you know she has light magic?" The friend asked, leaning in closer so that only the other woman could hear her. Unfortunately, she'd misjudged her tone, and there were ears _everywhere_.

Sitting on the other side of the green-cloaked woman was an older woman in a long black cloak. She huddled into herself, as if too weak to sit straight. In the thin yellow light that illuminated what little of her features could be seen, her skin looked a sick, yellow color. Her nose was large and hooked, her skin sagging around the cheeks and eyes. Her hair was grey and scraggly, probably hadn't been washed in days. She appeared to be minding her own business, but it was simply a ploy.

She was there to kill the bandit Snow White, the woman in the dark green cloak. Her spies had tipped her off that the bandit had planned to renege on the deal they'd made two years ago, planned to take back her kingdom. Well, Regina couldn't have any of that. _She would have to break the deal first and slaughter the bitch where she stood. _But something stopped her—talk of Snow White's child.

A toddler, the product of true love. One that would be able to defeat the Evil Queen.

"The _Dark One _found me," Snow spat the name out, taking another swig of her drink. "He told me what I already know; the kingdom is falling apart under Regina's rule. I have to save it. But…it's not my place. It's Emma's."

The other woman took in a breath. "But…she's just a _baby_," she intoned, sounding appalled.

"I know," Snow replied ruefully. "He told me that, until she gained her bravery, her courage, the Evil Queen would not be defeated. Emma is the only one who can defeat her…but not until she's older."

Regina had had enough of what she was hearing. She would find the brat, destroy her before she had the chance to grow up and dethrone the Queen. Removing her disguise as she left the tavern, Regina called upon one of her lackeys. "Bring me to the shepherd's farm."

Oblivious to the Evil Queen's intentions, Snow White and her friend continued speaking.

"I don't know what I would tell David…or Ruth. I hate that it has to be this way, Red." Sighing, Snow tipped back her tankard and downed the rest of her drink. She needed to start heading out—where, she didn't know, but wherever she was heading, she needed to start going.

"We'll stay in contact," Red promised quickly, grasping Snow's hand in her gloved one. "I'll watch them from a distance."

Snow shook her head. "I don't know. I couldn't ask that of you, and I don't know if I could handle living vicariously through some letters. And…the Dark One said that if I have _any _part in her life, she'll never have what it takes to destroy the Queen."

"I'm not judging you," Red exhaled. "But I will write to you anyways. Even if you never read the letters, I know you'll feel better having them."

Snow closed her eyes, holding back tears. But in the end, she nodded. She could handle the letters. She would probably even need them, to get through the years, to hold out for however long it took. Without another word, Snow disappeared into the night.

At the back of the tavern, a flash of silver glittered in the darkness.

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><p>Regina observed the filth and squalor the family lived in with utter distaste. It was <em>pathetic<em>, what Snow White chose to live with. If she had to live such a life, Regina would've simply killed herself and ended the misery. Sneering in disgust, the Evil Queen stalked towards the cottage. Searching the pitifully bare living room, she looked around for the bandit's offspring.

There was the shepherd, sleeping on a dirty cot near the entrance to a different room. Huddled in his arms was a small child, no longer than her father's arm, with a crop of golden blonde hair sprouting from her scalp. Her face was peaceful in sleep. The innocence of childhood, the sweet scent of a dreaming child, wafted around her. The Evil Queen snorted loathsomely.

_This will be too easy, _she thought, reaching forward to touch the child. Just as her fingers were grazing the child's smooth forehead, Regina leaped backwards, holding back a shout of pain. Her right hand, the hand she'd been reaching with, was blackened and unmoving. There was no more pain, no feeling, just a limp, vague notion of deadness in the appendage. Quickly, Regina let a wave of healing magic pass through the hand—it didn't work.

_I'll fix it later_, she decided tersely, her anger spiking as she glared at the still sleeping infant. So, she couldn't touch the child? _No matter, _she thought as she conjured a ball of crackling flames in her palm. She moved quickly, noticing that the shepherd was waking—he'd be engulfed in the flames as well, but that was no worry of Regina's; what was one extra casualty, anyways?

She threw the ball of flames with all of her might—and screamed again as ducked past the arc of the rebounding flames.

"What the hell?!" the Shepherd exclaimed, shielding his daughter from the fire. Regina was quick to throw a sleeping spell his direction, but it didn't affect the baby. She started crying, and held her father close. Regina fled the cottage, staring at her hands in anger.

"I wouldn't try that again, dearie," a pompous voice remarked. Regina snarled, whirling around to face the imp that had appeared out of thin air.

"Rumplestiltskin! What did you _do_?" Regina demanded.

"There's nothing I did," He replied immediately, looking at Regina in mock offense. "That child is pure; she's innocent in every way that…well, you _aren't_."

Regina sneered down at him. "And what am _I_?" She wanted to know.

Rumplestiltskin smiled. His smile was as thick as slime, as greasy as a toad's back. "You're soul is blackened, my dear. Just like your hand. " His eyes narrowed, and his words became daggers launched sadistically at the Evil Queen. "You won't lay a _finger _on that child. Not for years, not until she loses some of that precious innocence. And when she does, oh," He giggled, eyes widening in mocking contentment. "You'll be _sorry_."

Rumplestiltskin snapped his fingers, and was gone in a flash. After a moment, the Evil Queen followed suit.

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><p>Back in her castle, Regina paced the length of her throne room.<p>

"A child with light magic," she mused. "One that I cannot harm in any way. It's no matter," Regina turned her back to the nearest wall, paced through the dark, threatening castle, until she was in her potion's room. She'd just need to make a potion that would preserve her youth, so when she once again met Snow White, with her daughter in tow this time, she'd be _better _in every way.

"No," she whispered, an idea forming in her mind. "I don't need a potion…you!" Regina called forward the nearest Black Knight, who came hustling into the room as if his life depended on it. "Bring me the prettiest handmaiden in the castle. Now!"

_Yes_, she thought, _I'll take the life force from as many girls as it takes, for as long as it takes. For as long as it takes for me to get my revenge._

* * *

><p><strong>Now<strong>

Smee, of course, immediately told Hook of his theory that they were being tailed by Blackbeard. Hook dismissed the idea initially, but after an hour of being steadily pursued, he recanted his initial assumption that Smee was full of it.

"What kind of deal, exactly, did you make with Blackbeard?" Hook wanted to know. He'd been pacing the top deck of the Jolly Roger for the past half hour, alternately glaring at Emma and demanding things of Smee. He acted as if this were all _Emma's _fault.

"I didn't make any deal," Emma explained, placing a hand on her hip. "He said he would take me to the Dark One, that he'd be docked until noon the next day if I decided to come with him." She spoke confidently, without inflection, yet there was a small seed of doubt festering in her stomach.

Glancing back at the ocean, Emma stared at the approaching pirate ship. It wasn't getting any closer—Hook had assured Emma that the Jolly Roger was the fastest ship on the sea—but it was following at a steady distance. Not gaining ground, not losing ground, simply tailing. And Emma couldn't help but look back on her conversation with Blackbeard and question his eagerness to assist her. What _was _his ulterior motive? Surely he didn't benefit from Emma dethroning Queen Regina. So what did he gain?

There hadn't been mention of money at any one point; he hadn't insinuated Emma would have to pay him for passage, nothing had come up about any favors in return for taking Emma to the Dark One. So why would he offer her assistance, out of the apparent goodness of his heart?

There was only one explanation; Blackbeard either was gaining something from Emma defeating the Evil Queen—and Emma couldn't come up with anything a pirate like Blackbeard would gain from a change in monarchical leaders—or he'd been bluffing the entire time, and had a plan that wasn't so beneficial to Emma.

"You're lying," Hook intoned, advancing towards Emma quickly. Emma looked up, biting her lip in thought. "Or you aren't telling the whole truth."

"Something _does _seem fishy about his wanting to help," Emma admitted, then went on to explain the discussion they'd had. When she was finished, Hook appeared to be deliberating.

"What I don't understand," Emma continued, narrowing her eyes on the approaching ship. "Is why he would want me to come aboard his ship. What does he want from me?" _I'm just a humble shepherd's daughter. _

"Well, we might as well find out," Hook intoned. "Charming, follow—"

"Swan," Emma interjected quickly. "Don't call me Charming, it's Emma Swan now." She did this for two reasons; the first being that she didn't think she could handle hearing her last name, her tie to her father and family, tossed about frequently while she neglected that same family. The second being that, if something were to happen and her plan(which at that point in time wasn't a plan so much as a general idea of what Emma wanted to happen) failed, she didn't want her father or grandmother to be drawn into her mess.

She didn't know why she chose Swan; she'd always loved the majestic birds, their grace and elegance. Emma supposed that she wanted that for herself, wanted to be graceful, majestic. In truth, she was simply an ugly duckling, stumbling and bumbling about, with no real course of action to follow.

"All right, Swan," Hook substituted, nodding like he understood her reasoning without her having to even tell him. And she supposed that, of anyone, he might understand the most, considering he was known under the colorful moniker of Hook. Emma didn't think she'd ever heard his real name—_Hook_ probably hadn't heard his real name in a while, either. "Follow me to my cabin. Smee, drop anchor."

* * *

><p>Emma stared at the quickly approaching ship through the large windows. It was advancing eagerly, dwarfing the view of the sea as it drew closer and closer. Hook didn't speak for several minutes as he rifled through his things. Emma listened cautiously as she heard metal clang against metal, papers fluttering, and heavy items thumping around. Finally, Hook appeared to have what he was looking for. He turned towards Emma, a dangerous-looking grin on his face.<p>

_Dangerous for my heart, that is, _Emma thought, recognizing that her heart wasn't beating so fast from nerves of facing Blackbeard.

"Have you any idea what to do with this?" Hook asked, handing the sword to Emma hilt-first.

Emma took it with a smirk, testing the balance easily—it was a little blade-heavy, but if it was the best he could come up with, it would do. The blade was slightly curved, dingy, and didn't look very sharp. The hilt was dingy as well, some kind of coppery metal, and looked as if it hadn't been polished in a decade.

"My father taught me the basics," Emma replied, recalling her many evenings as a young girl outside the barn with her father. Ruth would watch nervously as she tended to the sheep, and offer comments occasionally.

Her muscles would ache afterwards, she never had the right form it seemed, and she was too slow in all regards. But he was a patient teacher, and Emma had picked it up eventually. _No daughter of mine will live without learning how to sword fight properly_, he would say. Ruth would just laugh at him, saying that Emma was much better than David when he was her age, and it took a woman named Joan to change that.

Emma sometimes wondered if this 'Joan' woman was her mother, but the timing never fit.

"Aye," Hook intoned, weighing his own sword. "Well if it comes down to it, hopefully 'the basics' will be sufficient."

Emma nodded in agreement. Then she sighed. She never should have started this adventure.

"Something bothering you, love?" Hook asked, catching on to her sigh. Emma looked down at her feet, heard Hook drawing closer, but didn't look up.

"Other than jumping on the wrong pirate ship, only to have the right pirate ship start chasing me? Just peachy," Emma replied, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, well, nothing we can do about that now," Emma looked up, surprised that Hook was so close—within a foot of Emma. He was wearing a devilish grin, looking down at her through his lashes. "It's a pirate's life for you, Swan."

Emma never got the chance to reply. A second later, Smee was shouting down to the Captain that Blackbeard was preparing to board. Hook gave Emma one last significant look before he turned and stalked out of the cabin. Emma waited a moment, and followed behind him.

* * *

><p>She blinked quickly against the brighter outside light. After a few more blinks, her eyes adjusted, and she eyed the scene unfolding before her warily.<p>

Blackbeard had indeed boarded the ship, taking along with him half a dozen of the largest men Emma had ever seen. All were tattooed to varying degrees, had scraggly hair or greasy beards, and were sporting terrifyingly dangerous looks. Blackbeard stood in the middle of them, five feet away from Captain Hook, who was staring down the intruder.

"Why have you been following my ship?" Hook demanded, taking a threatening step forward.

Blackbeard cleared his throat, narrowed eyes scanning the deck. When he spotted Emma, he cocked his head and smiled.

"You have something of mine. A girl, as it would happen. Emma Charming."

_I never told him my name, _Emma realized. So how did he know it? "I'm not any one's," Emma negated, stalking forward so that she stood next to Hook.

"You can hand her over," Blackbeard continued as if Emma had never spoken. "Or I can take her."

"You can try," Emma taunted. Those, apparently, were the wrong words. Not a second after they left her mouth she was regretting them, because as soon as they left her lips, at least a dozen more pirates crossed from Blackbeard's ship onto Hook's.

And that's when the fighting started. Emma glanced around quickly, ready to participate—but turning her back from Blackbeard for one second was a dire mistake. She never got a chance to show her skill in sword fighting. A second after her back was turned, she felt something hard ram into the back of her skull. The last thing she saw before passing out completely was the quickly approaching deck of the Jolly Roger.

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><p>Emma blinked slowly, attempting to overcome the pain of waking up with a throbbing skull. It felt as if someone had—well, as if someone had smacked her on the back of her head with the hilt of a very heavy sword. What little sunlight that was streaming through some dirty window reached her eyes, making the pain a thousand times worse. Emma rolled onto her side to be free from the light, and realized that she was lying on a hard wooden floor.<p>

And that she wasn't alone.

"Finally awakening, I see," came a soft, feminine voice from somewhere opposite Emma. "I thought for sure you weren't going to come to until tomorrow morning."

Emma struggled to sit upright, discovered that there was a wall behind her, and managed to prop herself against that. From there came the task of opening her eyes. Slowly at first, and then blinking, she managed to take in the room around her. She was in the brig of a ship. Blackbeard's ship, presumably.

It didn't look as filthy as it smelled; the floor was, mercifully, cleaned and mostly dirt-free. The window opposite the cell Emma was in was a port hole looking out towards the ocean. Illuminated in the light was a womanly figure. Though her cloak's hood shrouded her face in darkness, Emma could tell the woman was probably only a few years older than Emma by her youthful voice.

After a moment, the woman stepped into the light, removing her hood so that Emma could see her face. Emma had been right about the age—she looked to be in her late twenties early thirties max, but probably wasn't even twenty-nine yet. Her eyes were as green as grass, and when they focused on Emma, there was a hardened look to them. Her hair was as black as coal, her skin as white as snow, and her lips as red as a rose. Emma thought she was beautiful.

"What's going on?" Emma inquired, standing on shaky legs.

The other woman looked towards the door. Emma could heard heavy footsteps approaching. "You've been purchased by the Evil Queen. Follow my lead, I'm going to get you out of here," the woman promised, before quickly slipping her hood back on, just as the door opened.

Emma's heart began to stutter. Blackbeard entered the brig, a sleazy grin on his face. Emma glanced back at the woman who had just promised her that she would help Emma escape—but she had disappeared.

Blackbeard came to a sudden halt directly in front of where Emma stood. He hadn't taken any of his lackey's along with him, and Emma wondered what he needed to say that required solitude. She was just about to ask what the Evil Queen needed her for when, out of the blue, the hooded woman stepped out from behind a pillar, clutching a sword in her hand. Before Emma could voice her surprise, the woman had hammered the hilt of the knife soundly against Blackbeard's skull, loud enough to make a thumping noise.

Blackbeard looked confused—and then he was unconscious.

Emma stared at the hooded woman, whose white-toothed grin was the only visible part of her.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" The woman asked, sounding excited as she searched Blackbeard's pockets for the key to the cell. "Let's go!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Thank you all for continuing to read! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter, and will continue to enjoy future chapters. I didn't plan on including the flashback, but it seemed that people wanted a bit of Snow, and the chapter would've been pretty short otherwise. So I wrote that up, hoping it would provide some answers. The idea I had going for keeping Regina at her current age (early to mid thirties I think?) is along the lines of the way the Evil Queen keeps her age in the Snow White and the Huntsman movie, by sucking years from girls. And as you just read, this somehow ends up affecting Snow White as well, and there is a reason for that.

I would like to clarify, if it wasn't clear, that Snow has no idea that Emma is her daughter at this point. She'll find out soon enough, though.

Anyways. Thank you again for continuing to read my story. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

-Ashlee Frame


	5. Charming Suits You

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Once Upon a Time.

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><p><strong>Charming Suits You<strong>

_Emma stared at the hooded woman—only her white-toothed grin was visible. _

_"Well? What are you waiting for?" The woman asked, sounding excited as she searched Blackbeard's pockets for the key to the cell. "Let's go!"_

Emma didn't need to be told twice. As soon as her mysterious rescuer opened up the cell door, Emma bolted out, gathering her cloak around her as she stepped over Blackbeard's unconscious body. He snorted, causing her to jump in surprise, but didn't wake up. Emma breathed a sigh of relief, and followed her savior through the brig to whence Blackbeard had come.

"Follow my lead," the stranger said again, glancing back at Emma. Emma felt the woman's gaze linger on her face for a moment, but then she turned away and started up the stairs to the main deck.

Emma's heart jumped, and she took a moment at the base of the stairs to collect herself. "Who are you?" Emma asked in wonder. "Why are you helping me?"

"Shh, shh," the woman pressed a gloved finger to her lips, "My name is Snow White. Follow my lead, I'll get you out of here," Snow White promised, and rushed up the stairs.

Emma shook herself, recognizing the name. She was the bandit that the Evil Queen had been searching for on the night of the ransacking. Emma hesitated, but in the end her desire to escape outweighed her mistrust of the bandit. And anyways, the enemy of your enemy was your friend…right? Emma trampled up the steps, as loud as an elephant, tripping over her cloak as she scurried up quickly to make up the ground between her and Snow White.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Snow White hesitated before she opened up the door. She glanced back at Emma, who was a step below her.

"Here, take this," Snow ordered, handing Emma a dagger that was about the length of her forearm. Emma started to protest, but Snow cut her off. "I've got my own," she spoke over Emma, revealing the short sword at her hip. Emma nodded, and they pushed through the door.

It wasn't as bright out as Emma imagined at first; it was closer to the late evening than the afternoon. The sun was hanging low on the horizon, staining the sky a salmon pink bordering on orange. Whatever Snow White planned on doing, she had better get to it, otherwise they would be trying to escape without the light of the sun.

The bandit held her head low, so Emma did the same, focusing on the wood slats of the ship's deck rather than the bustling pirates around her. She stepped where Snow White stepped, breathed as quietly as possible, and gave it her all to remain silent.

It wasn't enough.

"Stop! The prisoner is escaping!" Rang a high-pitched, rather squeaky, voice from above. Emma looked up quickly, and saw that the nearest three pirates were advancing towards the pair. They were all bigger and stronger than Emma, and probably had more years of fighting under their belts than Emma had living. But if there was one thing that had stuck with Emma about sword fighting, it was that being lighter and smaller than most of her opponents did not have to be a bad thing.

It seemed that Emma's companion had already figured out this bit of sword fighting knowledge. While Emma stared, the bandit ducked under the swing of a pirate's sword, dodged a blow from another pirate without a weapon, and gestured for Emma to follow her. All the while, Emma had been standing there dumbfounded at the scene unfolding before her.

"Don't harm the prisoner!" The squeaky voice ordered from above. A pair of brutes turned towards Emma and started advancing.

Emma engaged the closest one at once, thought she needed to put herself within a foot of him to do it. She attacked quickly, cutting his forearm while he tried to grab her, and then leaping away while his thick and dirty arms clutched at empty air. Emma drew him closer to the edge of the ship, where Snow White was in battle-mode, fighting off two gangly opponents and one gargantuan one at once.

"Got you!" The nearest pirate exclaimed in triumph, grabbing Emma's long blonde hair by the end. She was jerked backwards, lifted up by the waist so that her feet dangled over the deck. Emma screamed, mentally prepared herself, and then thrust her had back against the man's face—the sickening crunch that she felt more than heard almost made her throw up, but she was ready when he dropped her.

Emma wasted no time sprinting to the aid of Snow White. She didn't know why, but she already felt a sort of kinship towards the bandit, as if there was a string attached to the two of them, pulling Emma closer, urging Emma to help the other woman out while she battled the three pirates.

Emma inserted herself into the quick of things, and used her shorter stature to thrust the dagger she'd been given into the calf of the nearest pirate—he shouted, dropped his sword and fell down. Emma wasted no time kicking his sword away from him—the calf must hurt, but she didn't want to overestimate the recuperating time of pirates.

"Jump!" Snow White exclaimed, and Emma jumped in place, much to the amusement of Snow. "Over the side!" Emma glanced back at the bandit, and saw the tail end of her cloak as she catapulted herself over the edge of the deck.

_I can't swim_, Emma thought, stomach flipping at her current juxtaposition of being between a rock and a hard place. Emma saw Snow White's head popping up above the surface of the water, and Emma wondered what the hell was her deal. Why had she jumped off? But then Emma saw it—a mermaid.

Taking a leap of faith, Emma climbed up onto the railing and leaped off, at the same moment a pirate grabbed the end of her cloak.

There was a moment that she hung in the balance. Weightless, she was floating in the air. But then gravity caught up with her; her cloak slipped free from her shoulders, and her body slipped free from suspension. She plummeted into the ocean, face first, and blacked out almost immediately.

* * *

><p>Emma was blind.<p>

"She's waking up," Emma heard a light, excited voice exclaim. Emma groaned, blinked her eyes, and awoke for the second time in a day in an unfamiliar setting. There was gritty sand covering her back, up to her shoulders. Her shirt was hiked all the way up to just below her breasts, but her brain felt too fuzzy to muster up the motions of pulling it back down. Rolling over to her side, Emma spat out what tasted like a giant lump of salt.

"How are you feeling?" A woman asked slowly, as if talking to an infant. Emma coughed, and didn't stop coughing until she felt like she was missing a lung. When all of the water was cleared, she sat up, pressing her sandy hands to her forehead. She blinked again, and realized that she wasn't blind.

It was nighttime, and she was sitting on a beach. The starry expanse of sky was directly above her. There was no obstruction to her view; no land or ships in any direction. Emma wondered why Blackbeard hadn't pursued them, wondered who the mermaid was, where Snow White was, where _she _was.

"Snow?" Emma croaked, coughed again to clear her throat.

"Here," Snow White replied, somewhere to Emma's right.

"I have to go, but I will be back soon," the stranger spoke. Emma could make out the vague outline of her shape, briefly before she dived back into the sea.

"Who was that?" Emma muttered, bending herself so that her head was between her knees. Her brain felt like it was swimming in a pool of muck.

"A friend," Snow White replied simply. Emma felt her settle down to her right, but didn't glance up at the bandit. "The bigger question here is who are _you_, and why does the Evil Queen want you?"

Emma sighed. "My name is Emma, Emma Char—Swan." Emma coughed to hide her slip up, didn't spare a glance towards the woman before she continued. "I have no idea why the Evil—"

"What did you say your name was?" Snow demanded abruptly. Emma glanced over at her, but couldn't make out her features quite yet. She knew she was being studied by the bandit, however, and fidgeted under her gaze.

"Emma Swan," Emma repeated more firmly. The woman was silent, so Emma decided to continue her explanation. "I haven't done anything—" _yet _"—to the Evil Queen. Why did you help me?"

Snow White stared at Emma. Emma could only just make out the shape of her rounded face, the paleness of her skin, but was really starting to feel unnerved. What was with this lady? There had to be a reason she was a bandit—and Emma would know the answer to that if her father and grandmother had been more forthcoming with information.

"Emma," Snow breathed, and Emma felt her hand touch her face. Emma would've jerked backwards if she had had the energy to, but as she was, she simply leaned back away from the hand and hope Snow would stop. Snow White cleared her throat, and let her hand drop.

"I had bartered passage on Blackbeard's ship a couple of days ago, for him to take me to Arendelle. But he was sidetracked by an offer he couldn't refuse; you in exchange for his life, plus a generous sack of gold. I've been stowed away on his ship for the past day, waiting to help you." Snow White paused her story to grin. "It's amazing how infrequently Blackbeard checks his brig for stowaways."

"But wait, why would you help me? You don't even know me?" By then, Emma was almost able to make out most of Snow's features. Snow looked hesitant.

"I have suffered," Snow started, her voice soft, "at the hands of the Evil Queen for far too long. I didn't want that to be your fate as well. Even though I don't—I don't even know you, I would not wish my fate upon anyone. When I heard that Regina had hired Blackbeard to kidnap you, I couldn't just idly sit by, couldn't continue on to Arendelle knowing it was within my power to help an innocent young girl escape having her life sucked from her to fuel the Evil Queen's quest for—for _beauty_ and youth," Snow White sneered. Emma stared, confused by her words, yet entranced by the hauntingly familiar shape of her eye.

Snow White glanced over at Emma, and seemed to get lost within herself for a moment.

"Tell me," Snow encouraged, leaning towards Emma, "What are you doing out here, Emma Swan? Why were you on that pirate ship with Captain Hook, one of the most dangerous pirates on the sea?"

Emma furrowed her brow, the question bringing forth a few concerns of her own. Namely, what had happened after she'd been knocked out? Emma couldn't see a situation where Blackbeard got a hand up on Captain Hook; she hadn't even _heard _of Blackbeard before, while Captain Hook was nearly a household name—and not in a good way. All knew of the danger surrounding that name, the threat of that gleaming silver hook. How had Blackbeard beaten him?

"The _Queen_," Emma spoke scathingly, "ransacked my house, looking for you actually. I don't know why, but there is just a…a gut feeling in me that I need to be the one to defeat her. I can't just let her continue destroying my—I mean, our kingdom. Honestly, I don't even think it was the ransacking of my house that was the final straw. When I learned of her plans to take Arendelle by force, I just knew I had to do something." Emma just wished she hadn't had to leave her father and grandmother behind in the process.

The bandit was silent, leaving Emma alone to her thoughts. She was concerned for her family. She knew that David would try something, try to rescue her, or find her. Emma just hoped that Ruth would talk sense in to him before he did something that would bring more danger to him than Emma felt she was worth.

"What of your family?" Snow asked hesitatingly. Emma didn't know what to make of the question.

"What about my family?"

"What are they doing in your absence? Your father? Mother? Siblings?"

"It's just my father, grandmother, and me. My mother left when I was very young. I don't know what has happened to them. I only hope that they're all right," Emma explained, looking guiltily at her hands. She knew the decision to overthrow the Queen was the right one, but that didn't mean she felt free of guilt for making the decision. Emma took a deep breath and waited for judgment to come—it was what she deserved, for abandoning her family.

Instead, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. Looking up, Emma met the bandit's eyes. Snow White didn't say anything for a while, but she kept her hand on Emma's shoulder. Emma wasn't accustomed to strangers being so informal, but in a way it felt…right. Almost natural. So she allowed it, even relaxed into it a bit.

Her eyes were starting to drift shut, and she was leaning further and further on her elbows, into the sand, when Snow White started talking again. Emma gave a jolt, startled, but woke herself up enough to listen to what the bandit was saying.

"My mother died when I was very young," Snow White told Emma softly. "She was an amazing woman; beautiful, intelligent in every way, and kind. My father and I adored her. I never thought—" she sucked in a quick breath of air. "I never thought that I could ever manage a tenth of her greatness.

"I often wonder what she would think of me now; a bandit, on the run from the Evil Queen, abandoning my f—friends in a quest for revenge. I have so many regrets, Emma, that if I ever focused on them, I doubt I would make it very far. Life isn't about worrying about your regrets. It isn't about letting the guilt gnaw away at you until you are but a shell. Life is about—"

"Moments," Emma supplied, remembering something along the same thread that her father once said to her. "Making the best of the little moments in life that are good, special, important."

Snow smiled, a tender smile that reminded her of her grandmother. She reached over and brushed a bit of hair away that had fallen into Emma's face in an almost maternal gesture. "Charming suits you, Emma," Snow White told her in a fond voice.

"How did you—" Emma's question was interrupted, however, when the mermaid came walking up on shore, shouting that she was ready to take Snow White back.

"Our paths will cross again soon," Snow White promised promptly, standing as if in a rush. "Keep your eye on your goals, Emma, and don't let anyone fool you into turning back."

"But how did you know my name?" Emma demanded. Snow White pressed on, ignoring Emma's confusion.

"One more thing; remember all the evil caused by the Queen," Snow White spoke coolly, an edge to her voice. "Remember what she plans on doing. And _don't fail_."

And with that, the bandit jumped into the water with the mermaid, and together they swam out of Emma's sight. So lost in her own thoughts, thinking about what Snow White had said, it took Emma nearly half an hour to realize one very important thing.

She'd been stranded.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I have to say, I truly enjoyed writing it; I love Mama Snow moments, and even though only half the party realized the relation, it was fun.

As for the concerns in the reviews; I chose to have Snow White be younger for this story because if she were the age Emma's mother would have been, Emma would have made the connection before I want her to. However, Bruceqw actually hit the nail right on the head, and guessed that once Regina is defeated, Snow White will revert back to her natural age. Additionally, Emma will have magic in this story (as we will soon find out) and there is still the true love between Snow White and Prince Charming.

Anyways, thank you all for your favorites/follows/reviews. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

-Ashlee Frame


	6. Correspondences

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Once Upon a Time

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><p><strong>Correspondences <strong>

David stared down at the piece of paper in his hands. His heart was heavy in his chest as he thought of his daughter, his beautiful princess with her bright, intelligent green eyes, and a proclivity for getting herself into trouble. But David had always been around to pull her out of that trouble.

He could remember the first time Emma had gotten herself into a mess that she couldn't talk, or smile, or charm her way out of. She was only five or six years old at the time, and they had gone into town to pick up some butter and a bushel of apples, as well as a few other ingredients, so that Ruth could make an apple pie for David's birthday. David had been distracted, trying to pick out the best apples from the market stall, and hadn't been paying much attention to Emma. So he hadn't noticed her looking at the pastries through the glass of the pastry shop window with longing eyes.

David had just paid the merchant for the apples when he heard shouting. Instantly, his eyes went to his hip, where Emma was usually holding onto him by the tail of his shirt. She wasn't there.

Whirling around, he'd dropped the cloth bag holding the apples and looked through the crowd of people, trying to spot the little blonde head bobbing through the people. Not seeing anything, he ran into the crowd, towards the commotion, and started calling her name. When he spotted her in the door of the pastry shop, his heart finally calmed down. Striding towards her, he picked up the tail end of the conversation, and managed to figure out what was going on.

"Do you have money to pay for that, little miss?" The pastry chef had asked. He was a stout man, with a round belly that betrayed his love of sweets.

There was a mumble in response, the words muffled by a mouth filled with a chocolate cupcake, as it would happen.

"Where is your mother? Do you think she would be _proud _to know her daughter was a little thief?" The chef continued, a sharp edge to his voice. There came a response, this time muffled by tears. David's heart broke a little right then. He reached his daughter at the same time that the waterworks started. Her big green eyes lit up with tears as she stared up at the pastry chef.

"Emma!" David exclaimed, looking down at the morose little girl with chocolate frosting smeared across her face, eyes bright red, a few tears trailing down her cheek.

"Is this your daughter, sir?" The chef asked. Scooping Emma up, David cradled her head against his shoulder.

"Yes," responded David. "What's going on? Why is she crying?" David had asked, his protective instinct flaring despite the fact that he knew exactly what Emma had done, and she wasn't an innocent victim here. It didn't matter; the only thing that mattered was that someone was making his Emma cry, and he had to fix it.

"Your daughter," the chef said, his voice booming, "thinks she's clever enough to steal from me in front of my own customers! She tricked my wife—tried distracting her by saying that she had lost her family and was wondering if she could get a glass of water while she waited to be found. While my wife was in the back, the little thief grabbed a cupcake and ran off! She would have gotten away with it, too, if I hadn't been seeing to a customer by the door!"

David glanced at his daughter on his shoulder, her muffled sobs wetting his shoulder. He would have to deal with her stealing at home—the market wasn't the place to talk to her about it.

In the end, he'd ended up purchasing the cupcake she'd stolen, and didn't have enough money left over to buy the butter, and it took another month for David to trust Emma enough to let her go to the market again.

That wasn't then end of her trouble-making, however, it was just the beginning. And all David could do now was hope that this adventure of hers wasn't the _end. _

"David?" A weak voice called out from her bedroom. David took a steadying breath, stood up, and walked into his mother's room. She started coughing a wet, ratcheting cough, that made David's insides churn. He felt like he was being pulled in two different directions; at the same time he wanted, _needed, _to go off and rescue his daughter, he had to stay home and take care of his ailing mother.

"Are you all right?" David asked, rushing to his mother's side. She held out her hand, and he picked it up. It felt clammy in his own hand, but that didn't stop him from rubbing it with his thumb.

Ruth coughed again, and David helped her sit up so that her breathing would come easier. "Are you sending that to Emma?" She asked, nodding her head towards the piece of paper in David's hand. David glanced down at it, too, as if forgetting that he was holding it. Looking back up, he nodded.

Ruth produced a letter of her own. Placing it folded into David's hand, she smiled.

"Don't read it, just make sure it gets to her," Ruth pleaded, before dissolving into another fit of coughing.

David smoothed back her hair form her forehead and kissed it. "I promise."

Outside, David walked to the edge of the forest that surrounded his fields. Glancing around, he sighed. Of course she wouldn't be there _this _time.

"David," Red spoke. David gave a start, and glanced up at the woman who had watched his home, his daughter, for as long as she'd been alive.

"Red," David greeted, nodding. "Can you find Emma?"

Red simply stared at him, looking into his very soul with those emerald green eyes that reminded him so much of his daughter's, of his…

"Yes," Red replied, cutting off his thoughts before they went down a path that would only bring him more misery. "I can find her."

"Will you look after her? Make sure she's safe?"

Red eyed him, her expression a mix between pity and kindness. "I've already been asked to. I was heading out to find her anyways."

David nodded and, feeling as if a spear had skewered him through the chest, held out the letters, not taking a step closer to enter the forest. Red stalked up to him in that intimidating walk of hers, pried the letters from his unrelenting hand, and looked them over without opening them. She studied him for a moment, studied the cottage, and then nodded.

"I'll see to it that these find her," she promised, tucking them into a pocket. And like that, she disappeared back into the forest without so much as a backwards glance.

David pressed a hand to his chest, his heart a fraction lighter than it'd been. Turning, he hurried back to the cottage, knowing that wherever she was, Emma wouldn't be alone for very much longer.

* * *

><p>Snow left her daughter stranded on the island, and it was killing her. Yes, Snow knew that in the morning there would be a routine trading ship passing by that would pass close enough to see Emma. But still…she had left her <em>daughter<em> stranded on an _island_. And there was no doubt, in her mind, that Emma Ch-Swan was her daughter, Emma Charming. Snow had seen the ring Emma wore on her finger, and it was undoubtedly the ring that Snow had left behind all those years ago. Why she had picked the name Swan, Snow couldn't understand. But because of it, everything was falling into place.

Just like the Dark One said it would.

A hundred thousand times, Snow had questioned the sanity of her decision to allow her daughter to grow up without a mother, without _Snow _around so that Regina would be overthrown. Every night she dreamed of abandoning her family, as if she had to make the decision all over again. Every morning she awoke in a cold sweat, begging the world to let her go back, remake the decision. This time she would _fight _for her daughter, _fight _for her husband. This time she would make the _right _choice.

But you can't turn back time, and she would never be given another opportunity to choose her family over her kingdom, over her quest for revenge.

And it _killed _Snow.

And it _killed _Snow even more that the young woman she'd just rescued from a pirate, the young woman who couldn't swim; who spoke so calmly about her sense of duty towards her kingdom; who could share the pain of losing a mother with Snow. Who felt as if she'd been thrown away by her mother—Emma hadn't needed to say anything, Snow could see it on her face that she felt as if she'd been discarded. And yet, she still had hope. She spoke of making the most of the moments in life, of fighting for her people and her family.

It kill Snow White that that young woman was her daughter. And she had taken no part in raising her.

Emma was exactly the person Snow had always hoped she would become. And she got that way without the presence of a mother in her life.

And that tore Snow's heart to shreds. Even though Snow was the one who'd stranded Emma—the one who _abandoned _her _daughter _yet again, for the second time—Snow had never felt more alone in her life.

* * *

><p>Emma was stranded and alone, huddling into herself for warmth on the cold island night. It wasn't even an island—more like an outcropping of land in the middle of the vast ocean that had a few trees and plenty of dry driftwood to its name.<p>

It had only taken her a minute and a half to walk the entire length of it, less than that to walk the width. She'd thought about hiding behind a tree for respite from the wind, but then she wouldn't even have a _chance _of being spotted by any ship that passed by. So she huddled, glancing to and fro, hoping her salvation would come in the form of any sort of ship—even an enemy ship that would be set on bringing her to the Evil Queen. She had escaped once before, right? Never mind that that was with some assistance.

Emma stared out at the open ocean, almost hoping that Snow White and the mermaid would turn back, remember her, say it was all just a joke. They hadn't _meant _to strand her; it had to be a misunderstanding.

But it wasn't. So Emma stood up, gathering a large enough pile of the dry driftwood to potentially start a fire, and broke off two thin sticks the length of her forearm from the nearest tree. David had taught her, once, a while ago when she was younger, how to start a fire with only sticks and wood. Emma just hoped that her limited knowledge of fire-starting without flint would be enough.

Half an hour later, and further into the chilly night, Emma was still having no luck. Throwing down the sticks in aggravation, she stared at the pile of wood, as if by sheer will alone, she could make a fire.

And to her surprise, it worked.

Emma shrieked as the fire popped and crackled to life, the wood bursting into flames as if an explosion had gone off. Her heart raced, but her mind stuttered. How had the fire simply…appeared? When Emma willed it to appear…?

Emma didn't want to think on it, so she wasn't going to think on it. For the moment, she decided, she would simply be grateful that it appeared and hope it didn't die off before the morning. Huddling close to the crackling warmth, Emma curled up and quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>"Miss…?" Emma gave a start as she was shaken awake. A young male was staring down at her, who was probably no older than Emma. His expression was worried, and his voice was shaking—as if he were both frightened for her and of her.<p>

"Emma Swan," Emma introduced herself. She glanced around the island—and gasped. Whatever trees and driftwood were on the island when she fell asleep, were gone now. The island was burning, and Emma had a feeling it was her own fault.

"Miss Emma Swan, would you like an escort to the nearest port?" The boy asked politely. Emma glanced back at him and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

And that was how, hours later, she found herself walking the streets of the port city. She had thanked the captain of the trading vessel profusely for his kindness and hospitality. She would have offered him her spare coins, if she hadn't of lost them with her cloak in the ocean. As it was, she found her stomach grumbling with hunger, and with nothing to pay for food with…Emma would have to resort to less acceptable methods of finding food.

Her min was everywhere at once as she wandered through the crowded markets of Marion Square—as she found the place was called. She couldn't focus on any one thing, because there were so many issues fighting for dominance in her head. There was the issue of finding food and shelter for the night, not to mention the strangeness of the fire, or the unfortunate loss of transportation for her quest.

Emma still needed to find the Dark One, to convince him to face Regina, to overthrow the evil monarch. Emma twisted the ring on her finger sadly, knowing that she would have to give it up in order to purchase the Dark One's assistance. It hurt her, but—"

"Emma Charming," a sultry voice interrupted her thoughts. Emma flinched, and wondered how the hell she was supposed to be going undercover if everyone knew her last name. Turning, Emma looked up into a pair of light green eyes.

The woman was beautiful, in a dangerous sort of way. Her cheekbones were sharp, casting shadows against her pale skin. Her hair was long and dark, almost black, and so long that it curled at the ends. She was taller than Emma, and was wearing a long red cloak. She looked to be around Emma's fathers age.

Her eyes looked upon Emma with a keen familiarity.

Emma felt her heart stutter. Could it be…?

"My name is Red. I have letters from your family." The woman—Red, spoke again.

Emma looked down at the letters she was holding in her hands. Her heart stuttered again, but she took the pages from Red's hand. Glancing back at the woman, Emma took a few steps away so that she could read with some semblance of privacy.

_Emma,_

_What were you thinking?__Why are you doing this?__ Are you okay? Where are you? I can't come for you at this time, you have to come home, Emma. What you did, leaving like that, was foolish and wrong._

_Grandma is sick. I don't know if she will recover from this, or __how long she__ if she will even get better at all. We need you at home, Emma, not off on some scheme to do whatever it is you feel you need to do. _

_Please, Emma, I'm begging you. Come home._

_Love, Your Father_

Emma grimaced at the letter from her father, worrying over the condition of her grandmother's health. Pausing, she turned to the other letter—no doubt from her grandmother—to see what it had to say.

_Emma,_

_I love you, dear one. Don't listen to what your father says. You need to do what _you _believe is right. In the end, only you are the one who has to live with yourself. Don't let this quest break who you are inside. Always remain true to yourself, and know that, even if it doesn't seem that way, you will always have your father's support. You will always have my support._

_I will love you always,_

_Grandma._

Emma sighed and stuffed the letters into her pocket. She placed her hands over her face to block out the world, if only for a few moments. What was she supposed to do?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thank you for your continued reading and support of my story! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Okay, so a lot of different perspectives in this chapter. I don't intend to make a habit of that, but felt it was a bit needed in this chapter for background and such. I hope you enjoyed!

So in the last A/N I had it written up, but accidentally deleted it, so a few comments that I'd addressed originally were forgotten. About the Regina bit in the 4th chapter; I am writing in third person limited, so when you read Regina thinking poorly of David and Ruth's house, that is simply how I believe—and how, canonically, she was portrayed to think—of their house. _I _don't think it, and this is not a Snowing-Bashing story. However, Regina has proven herself to think very poorly of those she judges beneath her, and I wanted to reflect that in my writing.

To everyone who reviewed my previous chapter; Thank you all! I am so glad that everyone thought I did okay with the Snow and Emma scene; I love writing Mama!Snow and Daddy!Charming, so I will throw them in whenever possible. It was a bit of a tight-rope, writing the scene, which is why I included some of Snow's perspective in this chapter. On the one hand, you have a mother who forewent raising her child in favor of usurping a horrible monarch. But on the other hand, you have a mother who so desperately wants to get to know her adult daughter, and does regret her deciscions, but has no room to change any of that anymore. And I wanted to portray that.

Anyways, thank you all for reviewing and reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, sorry for the long A/N, and a Happy (belated) Valentine's day!

-Ashlee Frame


	7. The Ties that Bind

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Once Upon a Time

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><p><strong>The Ties that Bind<strong>

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><p><em><strong>King George's Castle, Twenty-some years ago<strong>_

The man—a behemoth, nearly a foot taller than Prince James, and twice his width—growled, heaving his double-sided spear down on the smaller prince. Prince James jumped out of the way before the spear could cleave him in two, however, and whirled around. The shock of his sword hitting the behemoth's spear reverberated up his arm, but he didn't let it slow him down. Instead, he twirled his sword magnificently, grinning—right at the edge of a small cliff.

"Ah!" He exclaimed, nearly losing his sword and his balance. Grunting, he forced his body forward, and recovered in the nick of time to meet his sword against the other man's spear once more, snarling. He tried to strike again, but the other man was surprisingly quick, and knocked Prince James onto his side.

James vaulted himself forward, lunging towards the behemoth with his shield thrust forward, a small protection. Such a small, thin protection that it was, a few parries later, the behemoth managed to strike the tip of his spear right through the metal and, using his superior weight and strength as leverage, lifted James off of his feet, up in an arc through the air, and onto the gravel.

Without his sword or his shield in hand, James let out a huge breath, and remained as still as possible on his back. He must have blacked out for a second, because in the next moment, he could hear the behemoth drawing closer…closer…Just as he grunted, readying himself to stab the prince, James' eyes flew open. He threw his body out of the path of the spear, grabbed his sword, which had only landed a couple of feet from his body, and jumped to his feet.

He struck the brute once, twice, knocking the spear away. Confidence surging through him, James made the fatal blow, shoving his sword up through a weak space in the brute's armor, straight through to his heart. For good measure, he gave it a twist, digging deeper until he felt the hardness of bones at the end of his sword.

"Next time," James grinned as he imparted his victim with a few final words, "Make sure I'm really dead."

He felt the man shudder, and shoved him backwards with his foot to loosen his sword from the mans chest. The man fell to the ground. Not taking any chances—the behemoth was, after all, nearly superhuman in size and strength, and James wouldn't put it past the other man to be faking much in the way that James just had, he lifted his sword up high and dealt one final strike through the man's neck.

A moment later, James turned around to the cheering crowd, a triumphant grin on his face.

He'd done it. Hopefully, this would be enough for King Midas and his father.

* * *

><p>King George's failing health and Abigail's refusal to consummate the marriage were weighing heavy on Prince James' mind. He was pacing the floor outside his father's bedroom, working up the courage to confront the elderly man on his sickbed. No matter what medicines they gave him, no matter how many treatments and remedies, King George wasn't getting any better. Which meant that Prince James would soon have to take up the mantle of king—and he would need to produce an heir.<p>

It felt like yesterday that he'd married the depressed Princess Abigail, uniting their kingdoms—and their kingdom's wealth. Gone were his days of gambling and dalliances. Prince James needed to clean up his act and overcome his arrogance, for the betterment of his kingdom, so that neither King Midas nor Princess Abigail would have any reason to break off the marriage and end their agreement, their share of wealth and combined power. If they did that, there was no doubt in James' mind that his kingdom would finally crumble.

Thankfully, he'd managed to reform himself. He was level-headed, kinder, more thoughtful. He would be a good king, perhaps better even than his father, when the time came—and the time was coming.

James paused his pacing, took a deep breath, and steeled himself. _Okay, time to act._

Pushing through the heavy door, James entered King George's luxurious room. His heart gave a pang as he looked at the old, weathered man lying in the over-large bed, but he pushed through it, walking until he was at his father's side.

"Father," James greeted, dropping to one knee. "How are you feeling?"

"Old," George replied, a wet cough wracking through his body. "Too old to be worried about my son producing an heir," he continued, eyeing his middle-aged son before him. "Which is why I have taken action."

"Father, what are you talking about?" James demanded. He hadn't…?

"I've made contact with one of the dalliances of your youth, my son," King George spoke, taking a slow breath every few moments. There was no scorn in his voice, much to James' surprise. "And I have found that you, in fact, have an heir. Illegitimate, but an heir nonetheless."

"Father?" James asked, gasping. He couldn't understand the emotions running through him at that moment. At the same time that he felt devastated, unsure, and betrayed, he felt excited, and almost happy about this new development. King George paid no heed to his son's floundering, however.

"Her name is Emma, James. You have to find her so that you can teach her to rule. You have to find her for—" King George choked on his words, and started heaving coughs. James called for one of the nurses that had been stationed in George's quarters, but he had a feeling it was too late.

King George died the next morning, and the day after that, Prince James was crowned King. He had a lot to do before he could set out to find Emma—Princess Emma. His daughter. But he vowed to himself that, whatever it took, he would find her, and he would bring her home.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Barnaby's Bed and Breakfast, Today<strong>_

_I'll be back, _Red had intoned, leaving Emma in a rented room at a Bed and Breakfast. Emma had nodded quickly, not trusting herself to speak to the woman. Many things were spiraling through her mind at once, making it difficult for her to focus on any of her current issues for very long.

First there was the issue of transportation to Arendelle and/or the Dark One's hideout. Though, since she'd lost her informant when she'd been kidnapped by Blackbeard—and Blackbeard probably wouldn't help her find the Dark One, if he even knew where he was in the first place—Emma assumed she would work on warning Arendelle of the Evil Queen's plot to overtake the maritime kingdom. At least she would be of some use while she figured out how to overthrow the Evil Queen once and for all. Plus, it would be of use to have Arendelle's resources at her disposal.

Second, Emma needed to figure out what Red's relationship with Emma's father was. Those green eyes…the shape certainly wasn't familiar, and the color seemed a bit off, but this was the first green eyed-woman Emma had met that seemed to know David _and_ be in the right age group. She'd been wondering about her mother her entire life…was it possible that this woman was her? And if she was…what did that say about why she had left Emma?

Emma didn't want to think on that at the moment.

So on to the third issue of the letters—and really, this was the most important issue of all. Because how she responded to the letters would determine what she ended up doing; going home like the lost little girl she felt like she was, or endeavoring on her quest despite the odds stacked against her.

_Grandma is sick_, Emma echoed in her mind. _I don't know if she will recover from this_.

But then her grandmother's letter had been so…final. Like a goodbye, yet so certain that Emma would continue on with her mission. Emma wanted to rush back just to tell Ruth that no, this wasn't goodbye, it wouldn't be goodbye. _Couldn't _be a goodbye. Emma just had a few things to do before she returned home, and then she could figure something out so save her ailing grandmother.

But then what if it is too late?

"Damn it!" Emma exclaimed, kicking the wooden leg of the bed, then yelping as she cursed her boots for not being thicker. She _had _to figure this out, and before Red came back from whatever she was up to. Speaking of Red—

"Is everything all right in there Miss?" Came a voice at the door.

"Ah, yes, everything is fine!" Emma shouted back, but her response was hesitant. The voice…it sounded like her father's voice, but more…confident. More assured. Like her father's voice in sound and cadence, but unlike in every other way. Puzzled, Emma moved to the door. Just as she was about to put her hand on the knob, the door blasted open, revealing a knight—

Emma's father.

"Dad!" Emma exclaimed, shocked and confused. What was her father doing here? Why was he dressed like…well, like a very rich knight, with armor of pure gold, and a thick red cape lined with pure white fur. He had a look of confusion on his face to mirror Emma's, though Emma couldn't fathom why.

"So you know who I am," he intoned, giving Emma a once-over. Emma could only stare back. How…how had her father grown a _full beard and mustache _in the span of a couple of days? She hardly saw him shave, and more often than not he was sporting some graying shadow of stubble on his chin and cheeks. But this was a thick layer of facial hair. It made him look several years older, and Emma wasn't sure if she liked it.

"I can't believe you're here," David intoned, taking a step closer to Emma. He held out a hand like he was going to touch her, but then dropped it at the last second. There was a wistful expression on his face. "You're so beautiful. And you have my ears—sorry about that. If I may ask, who…? Never mind; it doesn't matter. All that matters is that I found you. Once he told me, I was confused. I would think any—"

"Once who told you what?" Emma demanded, wondering where her father was going with this crazy talk. What was _wrong _with him? But if he was here, that meant that Ruth wasn't in as bad a condition as David had made her out to be in. Which meant that Emma could continue with her mission without regret or guilt weighing her down.

David sighed, confusing Emma even further. _What's wrong with him_, she wondered. _He's not acting like my father. Or dressing like dad. And then there's the issue of the beard, which doesn't make _any _sense. _

"Never mind that right now; we need to get you home, and then we can talk about everything. You have a lot…" he trailed off, finally looking away from Emma and down at his feet. "_We _have a lot to talk about, a lot to catch up on."

"No!" Emma exclaimed. Now that she knew her grandmother was okay, she _really _needed to figure out her next step. She'd wasted enough time wallowing in sadness and confusion already, now she needed to get back on track. "I know you want me to come home, but I _need _to go through with this. I don't know why, but this is _my _responsibility, and you aren't going to stop me.

David sighed. "He said you would react this way, but I didn't believe him. I thought…" he trailed off, studying Emma's face. Sighing again, David turned around, heading for the door. "It doesn't matter right now. I need you to listen to what I have to say, but I can't say anything here. So you'll be accompanying me to the castle. Do you have any things you need to pack…? No? All right, let's go."

_Castle? _Emma wondered, staring after him. It was official; her father had gone off the deep end and was stark, raving mad. If Emma had any idea her running away would have this much an effect on her father, she would have told him in the first place. _Where did he get the gold armor and fancy cloak, then_? Emma thought to herself, taking a step towards the window. Because there was one thing she was certain about; she wasn't going to follow him.

It was too bad she didn't get a choice. Emma felt two sets of hands grab her arms, and she was being ushered after her father. Glancing from side to side, Emma quickly decided that it wasn't worth struggling—both men were twice her height, size, and just about everything else. There was no _way _she would have a chance against either of them.

Emma groaned in frustration, wondering how the hell—no, there wasn't even a specific question in her mind. _Everything _was confusing her at that point, from her father's apparent lackey's, to his full beard and overall appearance, and why he came after her after sending the beseeching letters. Her mind was a ball full of questions, and she supposed she wasn't going to get _any _answers unless she followed David to his 'Castle.'

So Emma allowed herself to be escorted to the carriage—nope, she wasn't going to question it—and settled in opposite David. She admired the smooth seats and clean inside of the carriage as they started moving, and Emma asked how far they were from the farm.

"Farm?" David asked, confused. "What farm?"

Emma quirked an eyebrow. "_Our _farm?" She replied. Seeing the blank look on his face, Emma made a noise of confusion. "Just who _are _you?" She demanded, only half serious.

David looked dismayed. "I thought…never mind. I am King James, and I have it on good authority that I am your father."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>No, James is not her father. King George did as he always did and lied. How did he know about Emma, or David for that matter? I can't decide if I want to write a second arc for this story(or as a sequel) that would pertain to that, or simply throw it in as a flashback. If anyone has a preference, let me know.

Anyways, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! I meant to post this Monday but time got away from me. I have the eighth chapter written, it just needs to be checked for spelling and grammar issues, and that will be posted later today(I'm Pacific Standard time though, so early tomorrow for some of you) after I get some sleep. Additionally, Happy Birthday Chlollie!

Okay, so a few people seemed to be wondering why Snow would have a baby with the threat of Regina looming over her. There is a reason, but I won't be explaining it yet, as it pertains to why Snow is absorbing the effects of Regina's anti-aging beauty secrets. I'm still trying to figure out where I want to explain that, but rest assured, Snow has no doubt that no harm will come to her family via Regina, nor should she have any doubt.

We'll get CS development (real, emotional development, I mean) in the tenth chapter.

Also, if anyone is reading my crossover story, I am sorry I haven't updated yet! I have the chapter half finished, and it will be published no later than Sunday.

-Ashlee Frame


	8. Decisions

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Once Upon a Time.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>So this is the second update in the same day, and if you haven't read Chapter Seven, The Ties that Bind, I suggest you do so before proceeding. If you've read it, then I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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><p><strong>Decisions<strong>

Emma stared at herself in the full-length mirror, hardly recognizing her reflection. She'd been given a dress from Queen Abigail, which was currently being tailored to fit her shorter, more slender frame. It was light green—the color of her eyes, the seamstress noted—and made of a sturdy yet soft material. The sleeves clung to her upper arms, but started widening at the elbows, and opened up until she couldn't see her hands below the hem.

It didn't cover her shoulders, but held on tightly to the sides of her arms to stay up. There were jewels lining the straight neckline, and Emma imagined it was the most expensive piece of clothing she had ever seen, much less worn, in her entire life.

After finding out that the man she'd thought to be her father was actually King James—she was still trying to work out how that had happened—Emma spent the five and a half hour carriage ride to his castle in silence, studying him. He didn't seem inclined to talk while they were traveling either, and had been more content to simply watch Emma in return. So they'd studied each other in silence, bumping along the rocky road.

When they'd reached the _castle_, James was quick to introduce Emma to Queen Abigail, who Emma imagined to be one of the saddest people she's ever seen. It could be the fact that she thought her husband just discovered his long-lost daughter in her twenties, but Emma didn't think so. It seemed like it was something…more.

Abigail took Emma to her room, where she quickly found a suitable dress, and then left Emma alone to her thoughts, though it wasn't long before a tailor came in and started hemming the dress around Emma's ankles. She was told that she would be dining with King James that night, as they had much to discuss. Emma was glad about that actually; she had a few things she needed to clear up with him, if her suspicions were correct. She would need to send word to Ruth if she wanted to be sure, however, and she wasn't sure how to go about that. She didn't even have paper.

"Princess Emma?" Emma glanced down at the hesitant voice. The seamstress's bright brown eyes gaze up at Emma with wariness. Emma shakes herself; the tailor must've called her name a few times before Emma realized she was being spoken to.

"Yes?" Emma enquired, not liking the sound of 'Princess Emma.' She wasn't a princess, she was a simple farmer's daughter. She didn't deserve, didn't _want _such titles. And hopefully, as soon as she cleared things up with King James, she wouldn't _have _that title.

"I'll have a maid show you to the dining hall now," She said, standing up. Emma nodded her thanks, and a few moments later found herself strolling purposefully though the halls of King James' castle.

She kept track of all the twists and turns they took, making special note of the potential escape doors, should anything not go as planned. She knew her father, but she didn't know anything about this strange man. He could be the same as her father, or the complete opposite—and Emma was leaning towards the latter. Her father had grown up a shepherd, without anything except sheep to tend to and a mother's love. This man grew up a prince, and was probably accustomed to being given his desires on a platter.

Emma had heard very little about King James. Though his kingdom was one of the closest kingdom's that bordered hers, they weren't particularly allies or enemies. The most she'd heard was that Queen Abigail's late father could turn anything he touched into gold, which explained King James' golden armor. Other than that, she was none the wiser to his character, how he treated his people, or the going-ons of his kingdom.

Before Emma could theorize about the state of his kingdom, however, they reached the dining hall. It was larger than she expected, dwarfing the small table at its center. Already seated, King James and Queen Abigail were waiting patiently at the end furthest from where Emma stood.

After being given a light push by the maid, Emma took a deep breath, raised her head high, and started walking towards the pair. They glanced up as she came closer, and King James stood to hold her chair out for her. Emma didn't think that was proper, but she didn't mention anything. So she sat, to James' left, across from Abigail, and waited for one or the other to say something.

She didn't have to wait long.

"Emma," James intoned. "You look lovely."

"Yes, my dress looks great on you," Queen Abigail deadpanned. Emma said her thanks, but didn't know whether or not the Queen was being sarcastic.

"The food will be brought out in a moment," James spoke, his voice hesitant. "I wasn't sure what you like, so had the chef prepare a variety of different foods. Once we eat, we will talk."

Emma nodded her assent; truth be told, she was starving, and would eagerly accept the free meal. Especially when, on her quest, she didn't know how long it would take for her to have a decent meal.

* * *

><p>The meal was delicious. Emma hadn't heard of anything the chef prepared, except for the pumpkin puree soup which Ruth had made when Emma was younger to celebrate the harvest festival. It had been a particularly bountiful year, and they enjoyed every drop of the pumpkin soup.<p>

Stuffed, Emma was glad that the dress was fairly loose around the mid-section, because she would certainly be popping out of it otherwise. Sighing contentedly, Emma turned her attention towards King James, who was finishing the last of his dessert. If Emma had known there was going to be dessert, she would've saved room. As it was, she was trying to convince herself that having some pudding wouldn't actually make her stomach explode.

After everyone was finished, there was an awkward moment of silence. Queen Abigail excused herself, leaving Emma alone with King James. He opened his mouth to speak, but Emma beat him to the punch.

"You're not my father, you're my uncle," Emma explained in a rush. She'd been working on the theory since the silent carriage ride, and it was the only solution she'd come up with.

Emma only knew a few things about her grandfather; he was a drunk, and died after drinking too much and running his cart off the cliff. Ruth always said that he hadn't always been that way, though; he'd been kind, caring, loving, and hard-working. He used to be someone to be proud of, she would assure Emma. And after listening in on a few quiet conversations, Emma learned that he'd become a drunk soon after David was born.

She'd never really considered that it was anything more than what it sounded like; a man who hadn't wanted to be a father ending up one and turning to the drink. Emma's heard of men like that, and even women, while in town with Ruth. And it seemed the most likely excuse, in Emma's mind. But not anymore.

Now, staring at her father's doppelganger—staring at his _twin_, Emma wondered if there wasn't something more to his spiraling depression. She wondered if there wasn't an underlying reason to his drunkenness. She didn't know why they would give up one of their children—how giving one twin but not the other even _happened_—but she was staring at the result. And she told him so, explaining her reasoning. And as she spoke, a strange look dawned on his face—her Uncle James' face.

"You mean to say…" James hesitated. "But, my father—King George said that _you _are my daughter." He said firmly, looking absolute in his resolve, even though there was a thread of disbelief in his voice.

"He was mistaken," Emma replied, shrugging. "It would be easy to be mistaken about such a thing. If…my mother," Emma had to choke the words out, "had me, and your father asked if the man she'd had me with looked like you, then that would give him a reason to believe that you're my father. And yeah, I have your ears—but that's because I have my _father's _ears…your twins' ears."

James looked frustrated. Like he was trying to find a reason not to believe Emma, but was coming up blank. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but never said a word. Emma waited patiently for him to gather his bearings. She could understand having the idea but not having the words to express yourself.

"Are you saying…I have a brother? And a mother?" He finally asked. Emma let out a breath and smiled, relieved that he seemed to be following the same line of logic that she'd followed to come to the conclusion that James was, indeed, her Uncle.

"And a niece," Emma gestured to herself, hardly hiding a grin. She didn't hold it back any longer when James grinned a too-familiar grin back at her. "Grandma and Dad will be _ecstatic _to get to know you," Emma intoned happily. "And now you can get back to your business of having _legitimate _heirs," she added, relieved. No more princess Emma, it would seem.

"Oh no, you are still the most legitimate heir to my kingdom," James disrupted her pleasant thoughts. "Abigail and I will not be having any children, which—"

"Why not?" Emma interrupted.

James appeared thoroughly uncomfortable. Emma was about to retract her question when he replied. "Her highness is not in love with me. She holds feelings for another, whom she cannot have," James finally spoke, his voice a mixture of sadness and defeat. But then his expression lightened again, and he turned his attention back to Emma. "But never mind that, tell me about your family!"

* * *

><p>In the end, they ended up talking until Emma was too exhausted to see straight. James, Emma found out, was like her father in a lot of ways, and talking to him almost filled the void that was ripped in her heart after she left her father. Emma promised to bring him to her home, to meet her family, and after she told him of her quest, he offered his assistance in traveling to Arendelle. Emma declined, stating that she still needed to figure out her plan first.<p>

A different maid escorted Emma back to her room, but before she could make it, Emma spotted a lonely figure walking down the hallway. Recognizing Abigail, Emma hesitated. She wanted to approach the other woman, wanted to ask why she couldn't be with her true love. After a moment, she bid the maid good night, and rushed to greet the Queen.

"Your majesty!" Emma called, and Abigail's steps faltered, though she didn't turn and face Emma. "Queen Abigail," Emma said again, bowing to the Queen once she was in her line of sight. In the dim light given off by the nearest torch, Emma could see true sadness on the Queen's face, hidden behind a calm, uncaring façade.

"Princess Emma, do you need assistance back to your room?" Abigail enquired politely.

"No, no," Emma shook her head and chewed on her lip, attempting to formulate her thoughts into words that wouldn't sound…harsh. "I just want to ask…why aren't you with the one that you love?" Emma saw the consequence of being without your true love on a daily basis in her father. But he couldn't help any of that; Emma's mother had ran off, leaving David with a broken, heavy, heart. Emma couldn't imagine why anyone would subject themselves to that for—for _power_, or a spot on a throne.

"I don't believe that is any of your business," Abigail responded curtly, turning and hurrying off. Emma winced, and followed after her.

"I don't mean to be rude—"

"Then don't ask questions that don't concern you," Abigail snapped, and Emma flinched again.

Grabbing the Queen's elbow, Emma prayed she wouldn't be executed for treason as she pulled Abigail to a stop directly below the sconce.

"Please," Emma entreated. "I just want to know. Maybe I can help."

Abigail stiffened, but then she sighed. "You cannot help. No one can help. My love, my Fredrick, cannot be reached. He is under a curse that cannot be broken, not even by true love's kiss." Abigail turned to face Emma, looking her directly in the eye as she spoke. "He was turned to gold by my father."

Emma was stunned. She didn't know what to say. An apology probably wouldn't be appreciated, so instead Emma asked "There's no way to cure it at all?"

"There is, but it is futile. The waters of Lake Nostos are said to break all curses, to cure all ills, and to be more powerful even than true love's kiss," Abigail admitted.

Emma stared at her, thrown for a loop. "So…why hasn't anyone gotten the water yet?"

"Oh, they've all tried. But an evil creature called a siren guards the waters of the lake. She shows her victims their hearts truest desires, and uses that image to lure them underwater to their death. No one has been able to defeat her, though many have tried," Abigail explained, seeming extremely tired. Emma immediately felt her own exhaustion seep into her bones, and felt guilty for keeping Abigail up to indulge in her questions.

But then she frowned as the seed of an idea rooted itself into her mind. _Water to cure all ills…_Emma thought of her ailing grandmother, the one thing holding her back from truly making the decision to continue on her mission to defeat the Evil Queen. If her grandmother wasn't sick, there was no doubt in her mind that Emma would have the strength to continue on. So, steeling herself, Emma made a decision.

"I have a plan that will fix both of our problem's. My grandmother is ill, but the waters of Lake Nostos will cure her. And with those waters, you will have your true love back," Emma stated firmly. Her heart was speeding up, she felt her panic rising, but she didn't care. It was time to be courageous; time for her to be a hero. "I will get the water, and defeat the siren."

Abigail shook her head. "It is too dangerous. No one has succeeded yet; you will only become another casualty, and James would never forgive me for allowing his daughter to die trying to save my Fredrick."

"Niece," Emma corrected. "And I am a grown woman. I can make my own decisions. If you will not point me in the direction of Lake Nostos, I will just find it myself." Then, more quietly, Emma added, "But I _would _like your help, if you are willing to give it."

Abigail surveyed Emma, looking at her as if she were judging Emma's soul. After a moment, she sighed, though there was a lightness to her expression that wasn't there before. There was even a hint of a smile gracing her lips. "If you are determined to go, then we must get you some proper armor and a sword."

* * *

><p>Emma sat at a desk with a quill in her hand, an ink pot to her right, and a blank piece of parchment in front of her. James had agreed to take her letter to Ruth and David, but she found herself floundering with what to say. In a few hours, she would be facing a siren, and although she would try, there was no guarantee that she would make it back alive. How does one write a potential farewell letter?<p>

_Well, _Emma thought, biting her lip. _Might as well start with the basics. _

_Dear Grandma and Dad..._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Hello again, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you to everyone who has followed, reviewed, or favorited this story.

Now Emma will be back on track, and we'll be seeing her take down the Lake Nostos Siren, in the next chapter. Hook will also come back in the next chapter.

So a few people seemed upset that I'd introduced the James storyline, but I really felt it was something I needed to address, considering this fic wouldn't have happened without him. Plus, I felt bad that Fredrick would have stayed in his golden prison in this AU, and needed to remedy that. I like the idea of James finding his family again, and I'm sure that David and Ruth will love the chance to get to know their brother/son.

Anyways, thank you for reading!

-Ashlee Frame


	9. The Siren

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Once Upon a Time

* * *

><p><strong>The Siren<strong>

Emma narrowed her eyes, holding her sword carefully—not so tightly as to restrict her movements or to make her motions stilted, but also not so loose that she'd lose her grip on the hilt if she tried to swing. Her feet were too far apart, so she adjusted her stance marginally, just in time to duck as James launched his attack.

_Left, right, up, duck_, Emma chanted to herself, blocking James' sword. He was almost as good as David, and better than Emma.

"Nice," James muttered as Emma forced him to take a step back, though he quickly countered this by making Emma take two steps back in a quick attack. "You're good."

"My father taught me, and he's more than just good," Emma responded, breathing heavily by now. She quickly wiped sweat off her brow with the back of her hand before turning her attention back towards the fight.

They'd been sparring for the past hour and a half; James had wanted to test Emma's fighting abilities before she went off to face the siren. And while Emma didn't appreciate the insinuation that she couldn't fight, she could understand his need to make sure his new-found niece could hold her own in a scuffle, if it came down to that.

After informing James of the circumstances of Abigail's true love—Emma had found it hard to believe that he didn't know of Frederick, but apparently the two didn't have the most open of marriages (or the most marriage-like of marriages, really)—James had insisted that he be the one to defeat the siren. However, it didn't take Emma long to convince him that he was needed more at her grandmother's side.

_Your mother's side_, she'd reminded him. It was an unfair tactic, and Emma herself was no better than he was, but in the end, King James would be of more use to Ruth than Shepherd's Daughter Emma.

_Princess Emma_, Emma thought disparagingly. Though she planned to do away with that title as soon as possible. Strangely enough, the more she thought about the title, the more…_right_, it felt. Certainly not likeable in any way; Emma didn't want to be a princess, was content to be just Emma. But it felt _natural_. Which caused her head to go in strange places that she didn't want it to go to, so she pushed it out of her head and focused on parrying James' insistent blows.

So, instead of James defeating the siren, it was decided that, if he determined that Emma could hold her own in a fight, she would get the waters of Lake Nostos and save Frederick from his golden fate. James would travel to Emma's home to meet David and Ruth, give them the letter she'd written, and take a healer with him to…well, heal her. Once Emma succeeded in getting the water, she would send some along with Abigail, and continue on her quest.

Of course, even if Emma _didn't _pass James' test, she would be traveling to Lake Nostos to fetch the water. She was an adult, for god's sake, and didn't need anyone's permission.

Either way, she was glad when James finally lifted a hand to stop their fight and conceded that Emma was good enough with a sword to try and face the siren. He urged her to turn back if she didn't think she could win, and Emma agreed, even though she knew that nothing would stop her from getting the water.

Anyways, Emma had a theory that the Siren wouldn't exactly be able to do its work on her. It was supposed to show a person's truest desire, and Emma didn't think that she _truly _desired anything, except to see her grandmother in good health, and to defeat the Evil Queen. It wasn't as if the siren could turn into a _scenario_ to lure Emma to her death.

So, an hour later, Emma was off to Lake Nostos, following Abigail on horseback.

* * *

><p>The smell of swamp was thick in the air. It was the smell of peat and trees, a sickly sweet smell of flowers and a muskier smell of the animals that Emma couldn't see. The trees were thick, both at the canopy and at the base, plunging the world into a state of quasi-twilight. Few noises made it past the thick fog sound barrier, and what little Emma did hear only made her shiver in fear.<p>

_Not afraid_, Emma told herself, even though she was. _Not afraid of noises in the fog, or of sirens. I have to do this. _

Emma touched her hip, making sure that the two water skins were still attached to her belt. She was wearing beige pants that had more pockets than any girl could dream of, a loose-fitting but thick and warm emerald shirt that was cinched around her waist, and a dark blue cloak. While it wasn't enchanted like Emma's cloak was, it would do for the time being—not that Emma had any illusions that she would ever see her cloak again.

Emma adjusted the sword in her hand for the umpteenth time before finally giving up, pulling her slick leather gloves off and grasping the cool metal hilt with her own bare fingers. The only problem now was controlling the sweating of her palms.

The air was cool, but started taking on a humid quality, alerting Emma that she must be nearing the actual pond. Her footsteps slowed, each step placed carefully, every movement controlled, until she finally reached the border of the lake.

Glancing around, she tried to peek through the mist towards the fabled siren, but could see no other living creature. She waited, tense, for some beautiful beast to appear and challenge her, but nothing of the sort happened.

_Maybe she died? _Emma wondered, shrugging. She hesitated a moment longer, before taking off her cloak so that it will not get wet—or get in the way of a fight— and stooping to her knees. She takes one of the water skins from her hip and moves it towards the lakes surface to be filled. As soon as her water skin touches the water's surface, a ripple spreads through the still lake. Emma pauses, her breath catching.

She can _feel _it right then. The sensation of eyes on her skin. Standing, Emma hesitates, unsure. But there's no point in turning back now.

"Show yourself! I know you're there!" Emma calls out. Her eyes glance over the lake wildly, looking for any sign of movement.

From the center of the lake, a larger ripple starts. Air bubbles to the surface, and a head starts to emerge. Emma watches as a woman comes into view, and starts walking towards her, on the surface of the water itself.

"Here I am," the woman says breathily, her voice like music to Emma's ears.

Emma stares at the woman, surveying her. Is this her deepest desire come to life? If it was supposed to be then…

"Sorry, but I don't really do blondes," Emma said, frowning. _Really? A woman? This is the terrifying monster whom all others have failed to defeat? _

The siren smiled knowingly. "What is your name?" She asks. Without waiting for Emma to respond, she continues. "Would you like to know mine? Because I can be anyone you want me to be."

Emma frowned. Maybe this wasn't her truest desire? "I don't want you to be anything except _dead_," Emma replies, surprising herself with the vehemence in her voice. "Now I am going to fill up these two water skins and I am going to leave you to your little pond," Emma informed the woman, and started bending over.

"Oh, really? So you are completely immune to my…charms?" The siren asked coyly. "Well…would you prefer me in this form?"

Emma made the mistake of glancing up to see what the woman meant. She might have regretted it instantly if she wasn't suddenly captivated by the new woman standing before her.

"Well?" The woman asked, and Emma could only stare. Her heart was pounding, because she _knew _this woman, could feel their connection to the depths of her soul. This was her…Emma's mother.

The woman had light blonde hair with strawberry highlights. It hung to the backs of her knees, wavy near the ends, just like Emma's. The bridge of her nose was covered in endearing freckles, her skin light as porcelain in the quasi-twilight. _She has my smile, _Emma thought, standing and taking a step into the lake.

The cool water shocked some sense into her.

"No," Emma shook her head. "This is all an illusion. You're not really her. I—I know that this isn't real," Emma told herself more than she was trying to convince the siren.

"Sometimes," Emma's mother—_no, the siren_—replied softly. Her voice was a wondrous melody, like a lullaby dancing through Emma's childhood. "Illusions are better than the truth." Her eyes twinkled, though Emma wasn't close enough to make out the color. For some reason, she _needed _to see the color. "Come with me, my daughter, and I can give you everything you can't have. All you have to do is follow me," the siren enticed.

Emma nodded blankly, barely registering the fact that she was waist-deep in water. "Take another step," the siren commanded, and Emma did. "Further, let me see your face, let me behold my daughter's face. You're everything I've ever wanted, let me be all you've wanted."

"You're not real, this isn't real," Emma whispered, though she wasn't sure she believed herself anymore. Her mother was _right there_, and Emma was just a step away.

"Closer," she chanted, and Emma took another step, now chest-deep in the water. She could feel her extremities numbing, even though the water wasn't actually that cold. _Just need to see the eyes_, she told herself, taking the final step that would put her a foot away from the blonde.

But then, she saw them. Two bright green eyes, the same shade and shape as Emma's, an everything about her was _correct_, it was _right_, and yet it wasn't. Seeing the eyes reminded Emma of someone else's eyes, though she couldn't place where she had seen them before. Couldn't place how she _knew _those eyes, knew without a doubt that _those _were her mother's eyes, even if _everything _else about the siren was wrong.

Realizing this was like realizing that she was drowning herself—literally and figuratively. Emma blinked, and took a step away from the surprised Siren.

"No, it's an illusion," Emma said. "I can't trust an illusion."

"Well, Emma Charming, you're the first," the siren smirked. A second later, Emma was under water.

Gagging, she tried to hold her breath as she was dragged under by the siren. She couldn't see anything, couldn't find her sword, and was being pulled further under by the moment. Forcing her eyes open, Emma watched as the siren let go, beckoned Emma to follow her further under. But the spell had worn off, and Emma was through with the water wench.

Too bad Emma couldn't swim.

Emma felt herself sinking, further and further under the surface. Her heart beat was slowing, an she was certain that she would black out or be forced to inhale water any second now. She could feel the siren's fingers clutching at her ankle, trying to drag her further down, and Emma tried to find something to hold on to when—

—the surface of the water was disturbed with a giant, furry splash. The siren looked up and screamed, though no sound came out, before her neck was promptly torn out.

Emma was too cold, too close to blacking out to care that she should probably be more afraid of the thing that had killed her murder than she was. But she couldn't bring herself to care…

* * *

><p>…"Emma, Emma wake up."<p>

Emma spluttered, and was forcefully rolled onto her side. She gagged, coughing up about a gallon of water, before rolling back onto her back and gasping for air. Her windpipe was scraped raw, and it hurt just to inhale, but Emma didn't care. She was _alive_. And she had her savior to thank—and to fear, probably.

Blinking, Emma shakily glanced around, looking for the furry thing that had saved her and attacked the siren. All she found was Red, staring back at Emma with penetrating green eyes.

"Are you all right?" Red asked, and got to her feet, holding a hand out to Emma. Emma glanced around, spotted her cloak and one of the water skins. The other water skin was still attached to her hip, mercifully.

"I'm okay. Did you see what saved me? I wish I could have thanked…it," Emma warbled, her voice a harsh croak. She cleared her throat, but that only made the pain worse.

Red seemed to hesitate. "I did. But it is gone now. You are safe."

Emma nodded her acceptance, before dipping the two water skins under. The water line was, strangely enough, nearly a foot in from where it had originally been, so Emma needed to lean further to get water into the sack. She managed, and when she was finished, she stood up beside Red.

"How did you find me?" Emma asked.

Red winked. "Just followed my nose."

Emma frowned. "I didn't think that I smelled _that _bad." She gave herself a surreptitious sniff. "At least I _didn't_," she amended evenly.

Red laughed, and Emma found herself smiling. "Come along now." Red motioned Emma closer, a smile still lighting her angular features. "Your friend, the Queen, is waiting for us."

* * *

><p>Emma carefully followed the path that Abigail had instructed her to follow in order to get to the nearest town. The path was obviously well-worn, which caused her to worry that she might run into someone along the dark forest trail. But she kept her head down, keeping up a pace that should put her in the center of town before all of the inns were closed down for the night. She at least needed to make it to some place to rest before she collapsed from sheer exhaustion.<p>

After meeting up with Queen Abigail—who quite tactlessly exclaimed that she was glad Emma had not died-the trio had made their way towards Frederick's shrine. If Abigail questioned Red's presence, she didn't voice her concerns; she was too preoccupied with the fact that she was about to reunite with her true love, after so many years. It didn't matter to her that Frederick was still young, and she was nearly an old woman by then, and it didn't matter to Frederick either. Emma had turned away from their passionate greetings, happy to discuss with Red her next step.

Red had tried to insist that Emma needed her on her journey, but Emma had declined any assistance. She wasn't entirely sure that Red reporting back to David at every turn of her journey was the best route to take, especially considering Emma's journey would most likely require the assistance of a well-renowned pirate.

So they had gone their separate ways, after Emma promised multiple times that she would call for Red if she _ever _had any trouble. Emma was surprised by the offer, and had wondered once again what exactly Red's relationship with David was. But she was grateful nonetheless, and had set forward on her renewed journey with a lighter heart, knowing that Abigail was taking her fastest horse to get the lake water to Ruth.

Indeed, Emma felt as if a great weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. Though she was determined to not make a definite decision on whether or not she would continue with her quest until she received word from Ruth, David, or James, Emma was certain that she would be hearing good news from any one of them soon.

She arrived in town a couple of hours past nightfall, when the silvery moon was lighting up the few clouds in the sky. Emma made her way quietly through the streets, and stopped near one of the harbor side inns that was open at the later hour that it was.

Taking a deep breath, Emma shouldered her sack and stepped through the threshold into the warm, candlelit parlor. There was no one around in the lobby except for the innkeeper, who accepted her coins quickly and showed her to her room. Emma had expected to stay a couple of nights as she gathered word on where the infamous Captain Hook was, and if anyone had seen his hip the Jolly Roger around.

As luck would have it—though something cried out in Emma's gut, trying to tell her that something was _off_—Emma ran in to Hook the next morning as she was heading down to get breakfast.

"Miss Swan!" Hook exclaimed, a dashing grin following the exclamation. And if there was something contrived about his greeting, about his smile and his sudden appearance, well, Emma decided that she was just paranoid after the past couple of days she had been having. After all, being kidnapped a couple of times would leave a girl feeling a bit paranoid, and justifiably so.

Emma ended up regaling her tale to Captain Hook over breakfast, though she felt compelled to leave out the fact that her uncle was King James, technically making her Princess Emma. It wasn't a necessary piece of information, after all; and it would soon be remedied anyways, with a more legitimate heir. After her story, she sits back, and asks Hook what, exactly, is _he _doing this far away from where she'd last seen him.

Hook leaned back in his chair, his one hand playing with the flask of alcohol Emma always saw with him. His rings tapped against the metal methodically as he surveyed her, as if weighing Emma for trustworthiness.

"A lead," Hook finally admitted, leaning forward. There was a harsh glint to his eye that made Emma uneasy. "To the Dark One's whereabouts. Tell me, Miss Swan, have you ever heard the tale of the Beauty and the Beast?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Hello readers, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sorry it took a while to update, I have been swamped with my finals—quarter systems suck, let me tell you. I have chapter eleven written, which I think I will be posted along with chapter ten (as soon as I get that one written) because it will just be a series of letters written back and forth between Emma, Ruth, and David. But anyways.

David will be accomplishing some heroics, but this is mainly Emma's hero story, and his heroics will be towards the very end when everyone is back together. Also, for the purpose of this story, I'm going to say that Beauty and the Beast is a local legend, an oral history of sorts.

(Oh my gosh, HTTYD 2 made me cry so much! But I think that's a compliment, so thank you!)

Anyways, I really hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know if there's anything you want to see, I'll see if I can work it in! Additionally, if anyone notices some continuity errors, please let me know and I will fix it pronto. Thank you for reading!

—Ashlee Frame


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